Spread Your Wings
by uber-tastic
Summary: A ficlet collection of assorted pairings, universes, ratings, etc: Ch. 24 - Some would call it love at first sight. Lucchini would call it an ongoing battle to save her reputation in front of her crush. Modern day AU.
1. Dream a Little Dream of Me

It was late. Or early, considering the sun just rose. But for a night witch, biological clocks and typical perceptions of time were skewed.

Sanya stalked the halls of the Romangan base en route to her room, nearly falling asleep as she walked. Her hands fiddled with her tie as she moved, but despite the sluggishness of her motions, she successfully untied the silken strip of cloth. The top button of her shirt was next, followed by the next, and the next…

By the time she reached her destination, she was clutching her half-open shirt closed with one hand and groping for the door handle with the other. She slowly entered the room, using the door as support for her tired body, while her fingers fumbled with the finals buttons holding the soft, white cotton together. The next minute, her shirt was off, and the rest of her clothing, sans undergarments, followed the first article to the floor.

In another minute, she hit the bottom bunk bed like a rock, already asleep.

Eila jolted awake, neither surprised nor bothered by the sudden intrusion. Rather, she sighed and mumbled her standard "Just for today," before throwing half of the blanket around her nightly bedfellow. Settling back into the mattress, however, she paused and decided to act on impulse and plant a light kiss on Sanya's forehead.

Feeling fully satisfied with herself, Eila let sleep overtake her again; she didn't notice the smile that spread on Sanya's unconscious face.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, fellow _Strike Witches_ fans! I figured I'd start this out with a fan favorite pairing. Yes, this will eventually be a drabble collection, which is really just an easy way for me to keep all my crap in one place. So, go ahead: read to your hearts delight and enjoy your stay!

**Disclaimer:** (This may not be necessary, but...) I don't own _Strike Witches_, nor am I making any kind of money from this.

And while I'm at it, feel free to point out any typos or anything that's awkward/makes no sense (I don't bother going to my beta if it's under 1,000 words). I'm also, tentatively, taking requests. In other words, if you want to request something, you're more than welcome, but there's no guarantee I'll get around to it. My only condition is that the prompt is more specific than, say, "[insert pairing here] fluff."


	2. The Little Things

**For:** Logan not here

**Prompt:** Minna and her perfected art of subtle affection for Mio.

* * *

She was asleep on the couch. Again.

Minna could tell that Mio was overworking herself; she could hear Mio nightly, practicing some sword attack that left her looking wearier and wearier as the days went by. And now she caught her on the couch. For the fourth time this week.

"If you can't even manage to get back to your room," Minna muttered, her fingers playing with a lock of Mio's hair, "then don't push yourself so hard."

Crouching down, Minna lifted her subordinate bridal style, silently wishing she had Trude's super strength. She didn't mind making a trip to Mio's room, however; she simply enjoyed being able to help the Fusoan when she needed it, even if the latter was always too stubborn to admit it.

Minna carefully placed Mio on her bed before returning Reppumaru to its stand. Tomorrow she would sneak her another portion of food during breakfast and scold her about falling asleep in her uniform.

* * *

Mio liked to drum her fingers when she was agitated. It was her way of venting her desire to move, to act, without actually doing something hasty.

(Minna liked to take note of all these little things Mio did.)

The Wing Commander could tell Mio was feeling cramped in the Junkers plane they were returning to their base in when she started shifting in her seat.

"Crazy, absolutely crazy. There's no way this will work," Mio spat under her breath. "What are they thinking?"

Minna stood and walked across the plane to the other bench where Mio sat. Sinking down beside her, she grabbed the hand that had been tapping violently against metal seat. She placed the hand in her lap and began stroking the individual fingers until Mio's muscles relaxed.

"We'll think of something. 'Nothing's impossible for a witch,' right?" Minna asked, enjoying the way Mio's calloused fingers felt against hers.

Mio nodded and smiled grimly, intertwining their fingers and squeezing Minna's hand. "Right," Mio affirmed.

* * *

Her bags halfway were packed and the plane for Fuso would leave in a few hours. Minna was sad, of course, but their parting was a long time coming. She considered herself lucky to have been given a second chance to work with Mio.

"You'll visit?" Mio asked, dropping her folded, white swimsuit in a duffle bag.

"Whenever I get the chance," Minna answered, fully intending to but knowing those chances would be few and far between.

Mio shot her a grin over her shoulder. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Minna couldn't help but return the smile. When Mio's not looking, she'll slip a bag of those Karlslandian butter cookies Mio likes so much into her duffle, and when Yoshika and Mio's plane is ready to depart, she'll give her faithful Squadron Leader an extra long and tight hug.

And maybe one day she'll forget all the little details about Mio that made her fall so deep in love, but she knows that day is far, far away.

* * *

**A/N: **Huh, I churned this one out pretty quickly. Here's to hoping this is to your tastes, Logan.

Like last time, if you see a typo, something weird, or something that makes no sense, please point it out so I can fix it. In other news, I'm still taking requests, so you're still welcome to push a prompt you'd like to see filled.


	3. For the Longest Time

**For: **HayatexBlade

**Prompt: **Shirley/Trude fluff

* * *

Trude isn't sure when eating breakfast with Shirley became a daily occurrence. She thinks it must just be a habit, from all the days they would eat together while Erica and Lucchini were still sleeping. Now that she's in Liberion for training, she says, she may as well take advantage of catching up with old comrades.

Shirley jokes that the only thing Trude's taking advantage of is the fact that Shirley knows where all the best places to eat are.

Nonetheless they always meet up, just at the gates of Muroc Army Air Field at seven o'clock sharp, Shirley leaning against her motorbike, wearing the same grin every day. Trude then, like always, hops in the attached side car and lets Shirley take her to whatever restaurant she's planned for the day.

Before long, however, all of the _Luftwaffe_ pilots training in Liberion are called back to Karlsland, and Trude breaks Shirley the news over a plate of pancakes, sausage, and eggs. She's surprised when Shirley loses both her smile and her appetite.

When they part after returning to the base that day, Shirley tells Trude that she has something special planned for tomorrow. Trude finds it hard to get to sleep that night.

They end up going to the first restaurant they visited, back when their morning routine was nothing more than a routine check-up on someone neither had seen in years. Trude doesn't recognize it until Shirley mentions its significance, and Trude instantly feels guilty for not remembering.

Breakfast, in regards to the food they order and their conversation, is the same as every other day, but Trude can tell Shirley isn't as cheerful as she normally is. That day, when arrive at the base gates, Shirley gives her a firm handshake (and a pat on the head) and tells her to take care of herself, because she knows how hard of a time Trude has with it.

Shirley isn't there to see her off. Trude doesn't hear from or about her until a few months later, when it's announced that she officially broke the sound barrier (Trude learns later that she had done so on the day Trude departed for Karlsland).

Trude is shocked when the base commander tells her to enjoy the two hours of leave she'll get tomorrow morning at seven. She's even more shocked (but somehow, at the same time, not shocked at all) when she see Shirley waiting for her at the gates, leaning against a motorcycle complete with a sidecar.

They go out to breakfast, just like they had nearly a year ago now, except this time Shirley lets Trude pick the restaurant. She even lets Trude order for them both, blaming her lack of knowledge of the language and culture for her indecision.

Their conversation is light and mostly consists of the exciting events in their life since the last time they've seen each other (Trude learns that two days before she left Liberion, Shirley had broken two of her ribs; Shirley learns that Trude has become the next Sakamoto and spends her time overworking the new trainees). Shirley speaks little of her recent achievement, instead focusing on future plans regarding supersonic flight, and for a while, Trude feels like she is talking to someone completely different, and much more serious, from the laid-back redhead of her war days.

They part an hour and a half later, after breakfast and an impromptu window shopping trip, and before Shirley leaves, she smiles and waves and tells Trude that it's been too long since they've been on a date together.

She drives off before Trude can do anything other than blush, and for the third time in her life (the first being when the 501st was disbanded after the destruction of the superhive over Venezia and the second when Trude left Liberion), Trude regretted that she and Shirley were from different countries.

The surprise comes back next week when Trude (on the way to the mess hall) is greeted by Shirley's smiling face, her waving hand gripping what turns out to be leave papers. Trude grins wryly at Shirley's persistence and takes her spot in the redhead's sidecar.

Shirley hands her a helmet, goggles wrapped around the surface. She asks Trude where to go and relies on her growing familiarity with the area to get them there. That day at breakfast, Shirley explains that she was stationed in Karlsland about a week and a half ago, on a base that would take a half a day's drive to get to where Trude was stationed when driving at the speed limit (which Shirley never did anyway).

They spend the rest of their time off base walking the streets around the small café where they ate, and as Shirley walks, she reaches for Trude's hand and swings their connected arms. A few minutes later, Shirley is dropping Trude off at the air field, raising a hand in goodbye, and telling her to be ready for next week's outing.

Trude feels herself smile as she waves in response, and for the first time in her life, Trude couldn't wait for her next chance to leave the base.

* * *

**A/N:** I love commas.

I was planning on putting this up sooner, but this Christmas season was busier than I was expecting. Not to mention this just kept getting longer and longer. I hope you enjoyed this HayatexBlade.

Same as always, feel free to point out anything that looks off, and I'll fix it.

Historic References:

- Gerhard Barkhorn (along with other German pilots like Erich Hartmann and Günther Rall) trained in the U.S. after the war to brush up on their skills and to familiarize themselves with the American planes used by the newly formed Luftwaffe.

- Chuck Yeager was stationed at Muroc Army Air Field when he broke the sound barrier. He had broken two ribs while riding a horse two nights before he broke the sound barrier. He kept it a secret because he didn't want to someone else to take his place.


	4. Somewhere in Between

**For: **ThornKun

**Prompt**: Hartmann/Trude fluff, "like how they usually are together in the anime."

* * *

My best friend is…

Lazy. And sloppy. And a pain to deal with.

She always oversleeps, she can never remember where she puts her pants, and she's obsessed with potatoes and candy.

To make matters worse, she has the amazing ability to worm her way into people's hearts and convince them to take care of her. (Not that I ever would, if I could help it.)

My best friend is… slowly blurring the line between friend and lover.

Somewhere amidst the hugs, the teasing comments, and the whiny voice she uses to call my name, I can feel my heart pound a little faster and my cheeks get a little warmer.

And for some reason, no matter how hard I try to be a reasonable authority figure, she can always, _somehow_, convince me to erase a little of that line myself.

* * *

My best friend is…

Strict. And harsh. And a complete stick in the mud.

She always yells at me, she never stops talking about "discipline," and she's obsessed with doting on her little sister.

What's more, she is utterly unable to loosen up and always runs herself into the ground as a result.

My best friend is… constantly making me fall more and more in love with her.

Somewhere lost in the tense contact, the angry yells, and the stiff way she wakes me up in the morning, I can feel myself get sucked in a little more and fall a little farther.

And, even though I really am doing my best to control myself, I can't help but try to get her to smile a little more.

* * *

They're doing it again. That bickering, beat-around-the-bush thing.

I'm tired of it.

I don't know how they can dance around each other (_daily,_ for goodness' sake) and not even notice how they feel about each other.

Everyone can see it. Even _I _can see it. They're the only people who _can't_.

I suppose for now I'll just have to grit my teeth and bear it (we are at the dinner table, after all), but tomorrow? Tomorrow I'll get a few of the other witches together, and we'll make them a reservation for the smallest closet in Mont Saint-Michel.

I already picked up the key from maintenance, and I swear, they're not getting out until they get it together.

Whatever "it" is.

* * *

**A/N: **I had a surprisingly hard time writing this one. For some reason, I just kept wanting to write them in some clichéd, romantic comedy-esque AU. Maybe one day I'll do it anyway.

ThornKun, I hope you like this, even if it's short and I'm not completely pleased with it.

The last part is meant to be ambiguous as far as point-of-view goes. I felt like I needed something to finish it up, because I felt ending after two parts would be too abrupt (and short). I did have a character in mind when I wrote that bit, so anyone can venture a guess as to who it is.


	5. Nothing Special

You don't know why she chose you to be her wingman. She's Dominica S. Gentile, the impulsive witch who can easily command anyone's attention, and you're just Jane Godfrey, a big city girl with the presence of someone who grew up in a much smaller town. No matter which way you look at or think about it, you're nothing special. You're just an average person.

_She_, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. Back when both of you were still stationed in Britannia with the exclusively Liberian 4th Fighter Group, she was always the one in the spotlight. When you walked around London together on that one holiday back in '43, she was the reason that the other witches you met on the excursion insisted on spending time with the two of you.

But for some reason, you could never find it in you to be jealous. As far as you were concerned, you were – and still are – as along for the ride as they were; the only real difference is that _you_ never got to choose if you wanted to be. She made the choice for you.

She still surprises you, even now, years after the first time you met. Like every time she gives you a passing compliment (which wouldn't seem like much, but this _Dominica S. Gentile_, someone who rarely shows her feelings, let alone _compliments_ anyone), or when she hugs you from behind (sometimes you think you can feel her lips press into your hair, but you don't want to set yourself up for disappointment if it turns out she hadn't).

You can even manage to surprise yourself sometimes, an occurrence that happens a lot more now that you fly with Don. You have no clue where the sharp tongue you only ever use on her comes from, nor do you understand how you can always keep up with her in battle.

Maybe you're as perfect for each other as she always says you are. Maybe all those days you denied your compatibility really are as pointless as they seem now. Maybe you should just accept that she turned your life upside-down and that you couldn't be more pleased by everything that's happened since.

You don't know why she chose you, but you can't deny that you're happy she did.

* * *

**A/N: **If I had to name my _Strike Witches _OTP, Dominica and Jane would blow all competition out of the water. It's the only pairing where I can honestly say I only ship the two with each other, although I do like the premise of Don/Jane/Minna (if you don't get this joke, read Wolf-Dietrich Wilcke's Wikipedia page. Pay special attention to who is credited with shooting him down).

This time around, I thought I'd try something different from my usual third-person, past tense writing, so you, my dear reader, get second-person, present tense. I bet you're giddy with excitement. And if you're wondering why I purposely left out Jane's middle initial, it was to put more emphasis on Don's name than Jane's.

If you don't get any of the references in this story, or you don't know who these characters are (hooray for characters never seen in the anime?) check the _Strike Witches_ wikia. You'll want to look up, on top of the character profiles, the 504th Twitter stories.


	6. Roman Holiday

**For: **HayatexBlade

**Prompt: **Lucchini/Maria

* * *

"…for bravery in Romagnan skies against the Neuroi threat…"

If there was one thing Lucchini hated about being a witch, it was the award ceremonies. She didn't care about a shiny medal that would just end up collecting dust under her bed.

"The Duchy of Romagna would like to award, on the behalf of all its citizens, the Gold Medal of Military Valor…"

Lucchini bit her tongue to keep from yawning; she knew if she showed any (visible) signs of boredom, she would be berated by every former member of the Strike Witches.

"…to the brave witches of the 501st and 504th Joint Fighter Wings."

She gritted her teeth in a grim smile, one that would perfectly fit the image of a mature, eighteen-year-old veteran. The adoring crowd didn't need to know that her "mature, eighteen-year-old" self would much rather nodding off in in the barracks.

A stern faced general (who, Lucchini noted, had a ridiculously large moustache) made his way down the line of stiff-backed soldiers, pinning a golden medal on each one as he went. He made sure to firmly shake each witch's hand before moving on the next.

Lucchini looked straight ahead as he approached her, her eyes fixed on a Romagnan flag near the door leading from the room the ceremony was held in. She could hear the Duchess announce her name, country, and current unit affiliation. The handshake followed, and soon the general moved on to the person beside her.

She let out the breath she had inhaled earlier to keep herself from fidgeting, but the intensity at which in exhaled made it sound more like a sigh of relief. Shirley, who to Lucchini's knowledge was having just as hard a time acting serious, nudged with her with an elbow and snickered.

The sound was quickly cut off however, and Lucchini shot an appraising glance around Shirley's red hair. Judging from the scene, Perrine, who had been standing directly on Shirley's other side, had jabbed the latter, roughly, in the side.

Now, even more amused than before, Lucchini could barely keep the grin off her face, and she couldn't help but guiltily smirk as the Duchess moved down the line, thanking each witch individually. Maria was as beautiful as she was the first time she and Lucchini met, but Lucchini, who had "blossomed" (as Shirley loved to jokingly put it) just a few years ago, couldn't help but be hyper aware of this fact.

Maria's hand was soft and dainty and really, _really_ pale for someone from a country that was so frequently showered in sun. Lucchini took the small hand in hers and immediately felt self-conscious; her hands were calloused and dark and far too comfortable with the feel of a gun, whose cold, hard metal was a long shot from the heat and, frankly, _squishiness_, of Maria's hand.

The grin that was previously plastered on Lucchini's face slipped off and left her with a vaguely stunned one. Maria, meanwhile, didn't seem to notice and proceeded down the line, offering a handshake to a partly serious, partly bored Eila.

The rest of the ceremony was as dull as the beginning, but Lucchini had no trouble standing still. She was too busy trying to ignore the way her fingers were tingling.

* * *

"It looks good on you," Maria told Lucchini in the privacy of her personal living room, which was one of many in the castle. "The medal and uniform both."

Lucchini twisted in her seat on the couch and yanked at the hem of her black Redpants jacket. She had been admitted to the elite group nearly two years ago, after she, as Barkhorn said, "grew up."

"I guess the last time we saw each other, I didn't have it yet," Lucchini mused. "Just how many years has it been? Four, five?"

Maria reached out from her place in a nearby armchair to play with the golden award, her thumb rubbing the face. "Too long," was her simple, mumbled reply.

Lucchini had to agree; both had grown considerably since the day they toured Rome together. Her gaze dropped to her chest, her eyes following the motions of Maria's fingers on her medal.

"The war's over now," she stated, lamely, leaving a million and a half things unsaid.

Maria made a noise in the back of her throat in agreement. "I _have_ been wanting to see Rome through someone else's eyes again." She moved her hand to fiddle with Lucchini's collar. Lucchini could feel her breath catch.

"I have vacation time coming up," she offered, glancing at Maria's face.

"I don't," she giggled. "But I'm flattered you would offer." Her hand movements shifted again, and she started to fix the black collar.

Lucchini cracked a grin. "Of course!" she enthused. "You're a friend."

Maria pulled her hand away. Smiling, she affirmed what Lucchini had just said. "A friend."

"And that's what friends do, right? Ditch training and kidnap them from royal responsibilities to go out on dates."

Neither could keep a straight face after Lucchini's statement, and their laughter could be heard in the surrounding halls.

"Your highness!" It was the general from earlier. "This is where you were! You have a radio broadcast in a few hours and the press would like to speak with you before then."

Maria stood, body still trembling with chuckles, and took Lucchini's arm, heaving her up with strength belied by her regal appearance. "It was nice seeing you again," she said, moving away.

Lucchini stopped her short, though, and pulled her into a firm hug, their heads right beside each other. She spoke in little more than a whisper, "Next week, eight o'clock in the morning, dress casual. I'll meet you outside the back gates of the courtyard."

She stepped away, feeling immensely satisfied with herself. Maria nodded, her cheeks still tinged with red from the unexpected embrace.

Next week couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

**A/N:** Once again, I fulfill a request for HayatexBlade, and it ends much longer than I was planning. It was fun to write, so I hope this is equally amusing to read.

Am I the only who thinks that a fully-grown Lucchini would look really good in the Redpants uniform? Or for that matter, that a fully-grown Lucchini would just look really good?

In case anyone's wondering, I am still taking requests, so go ahead and lay 'em on me.

Historic References:

- The Gold Medal of Military Valor is an actual Italian military award. It's one of the highest honors awarded by the Italian government and is still awarded today. Notable _Strike Witches_-related recipients include Furio Niclot Doglio (the archetype for Federica N. Doglio, commander of the 504th), Hans-Joachim Marseille, and Franco Lucchini.


	7. Make a Night of It

**For: **OZ7UP

**Prompt:** Elizabeth/Tomoko

* * *

It had become a weekly occurrence. Like clockwork, Beurling would slip into the open side of Tomoko's bed, and they would spend some of the night talking about their current situation or the Neuroi or the state of their equipment.

The conversation would end, sometimes on a few minutes, sometimes a few hours after Beurling's initial intrusion, and the pair would go to sleep in their own rooms, with no one the wiser.

For a long time, that was it. They never pressed for personal details, and they hardly spoke to each other when the sun was out. Their interaction stopped at their nighttime conferences.

Tomoko valued the idea of having a comrade who she could trust in her bed without worrying about being molested. The thought of _not_ waking to a traumatized Elma was an incredibly pleasing one, and she could always tell how a day would turn out simply based on whether she could fight Haruka or Guiseppina's hands off of her the night before.

It wasn't a surprise, then, considering what she normally put up with when the sun set, that Tomoko occasionally wondered what it would feel like if it was Beurling's hands that stroked her in the most inappropriate ways. Would she still think it was a nuisance, or would she welcome the feeling?

(It was around this time in that particular train of thought that Tomoko would turn to her constant bedfellow and accuse her of perverting her thoughts.)

Other times she would find herself staring at Beurling, her mind wandering from how the Spitfire units performed compared to the Hurricane, to how rough those hands must be from flicking a flint wheel so frequently, to how it would feel to have those lips wrapped around her like they're so often wrapped around a cigarette.

It only took a few months before Tomoko was sure she'd snap from the (she would vehemently, and mentally, deny that it was sexual) tension. Night time quickly became more and more unbearable when Beurling didn't visit, and Tomoko was sorely tempted to turn the tables and sneak into the other's bed instead.

She snapped, eventually, when Beurling calmly asked her why she seemed so distracted one night. She acted so quickly in fact, that when her brain finally caught up with her actions, her hands were already tangled in silver hair and her mouth pushed against tobacco-stained lips. Beurling, who seemed frustratingly calm despite the situation, responded, matched the pressure but with arms that resolutely stayed by her sides.

The kiss ended as suddenly as it began, the steam of their panting breaths clearly visible in the frozen temperatures of Suomus. Beurling, with an expression as impassive as always, murmured something akin to "So that's what's bothering you," before reaching out for the first time and pulling Tomoko close.

Tomoko, still reeling from the kiss, sunk into the embrace. She fell asleep in seconds.

* * *

The next morning, when Tomoko awoke, Beurling was nowhere to be found. Tomoko shot out of bed and inspected her room. The small space was devoid of anyone else, Haruka included.

Feeling somewhat disappointed, Tomoko dressed and left the deserted room, making her way to the dining area. On her way there, however, she was tugged into a well-hidden corner of their base.

"Worried I wasn't there when you woke up?" Beurling whispered in Tomoko's ear, well aware of the way Tomoko shivered from both the warm breath on her ear and the closeness of Beurling's body.

She still leaned into the warmth, despite how tense with surprise she had been not but a moment earlier.

"Not really," she answered, enjoying how Beurling's slightly larger body felt against hers.

Beurling gripped Tomoko's chin and turned her head so she could see Beurling's smirk and half-lidded eyes. "You should really be more honest," she muttered, dragging Tomoko's face closer to hers.

Before Tomoko could blink, Beurling's mouth was on hers, arms tightly wrapped around her. Tomoko could feel her strength leave her as a tongue forced through her lips, and she was glad she was being held so securely.

It didn't take long for Beurling to pull away, leaving Tomoko dazed.

"That was payback for last night," she explained, rather simply. She leaned Tomoko against the wall, the corner of her mouth angled up slightly, and pulled her pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. "See you at breakfast."

* * *

**A/N: **Times like these make me wish I knew Japanese and had the complete raws to the Suomus Misfits novels. On a more interesting/amusing/alright-get-on-with-it note, MSWord disliked the spellings of Beurling, Haruka, Guiseppina, and Suomus... yet had no problem with Tomoko or Elma. I'll never understand word processors.

I think this may be the first actually kissing I've written for this series, but I guess I've got to live up to my "T" rating somehow. At any rate, I hope you folks enjoyed it.


	8. No Exceptions

**For:** Victor Petrenko

**Prompt:** something with Marseille, like Marseille/Minna

* * *

She was _really _close, and Minna felt herself swallow thickly, almost instinctively.

"No autographs or interviews." Minna shivered from the feeling of Marseille's warm breath in her ear. She opened her _frustratingly_ dry mouth to respond, but Marseille cut her off.

"No exceptions."

Minna blinked in a vain attempt to react, but Marseille had already pushed herself off the wall she had pinned Minna against and was making her way to the exit.

"How about dinner, then?" Minna asked, licking her lips and wondering where her sudden outburst came from. "Do you have any rules about that?"

Marseille shot her a glance over her shoulder. "Dating a reporter? Nope."

With that she continued on her way, but not before leaving a confused Minna a few parting words.

"Saturday, seven o'clock. You know where my hotel is."

* * *

Minna ran a hand through her hair as she slumped against the back wall of the elevator. The walk back to the _Bunte_ offices was long but necessary; her knees had been shaking in a way that could only be fixed by making them work. Minna hoped the same would apply for her head.

Her hand slipped down to run over her face. She had interviewed countless numbers of celebrities: world-renowned scientists, music giants, athletic heroes… one movie star should _not_ work her up so much. Particularly not Hanna-Justina Marseille, whose talent and ability in front of a camera was rivaled only by her self-confidence and refusal to get along with the press.

As a reporter for Karlsland's premier gossip rag, Minna had entertained the thought of bumping into one of the world's most recognizable actresses and nonchalantly asking a few select questions (which she would then turn into the article of the century), but she never expected it would actually happen.

Or that the "few select questions" would get her pressed up against a wall by one of the most attractive people she has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Minna knew that Galland, the editor and her boss, would string her up to dry if she found out about Minna's weekend plans. Marseille might not have any restrictions on who she dates, but Minna does, and dating a celebrity?

Definitely against the rules.

The elevator doors jerked open, and Minna made her way to her desk, absent-mindedly greeting her coworkers as she went.

She slumped in her stiff chair and let her head drop the wooden surface. Saturday was too soon.

* * *

The restaurant was swanky and high-end, the exact kind of place Minna would never go to if it was coming out of her wallet. Marseille was dressed in a way Minna would only expect from such a high-profile celebrity, so Minna couldn't help but feel terribly self-conscious from both how simple her own clothing was and how everyone else in the dining room seemed to be staring at them.

"Not used to the limelight?" Marseille questioned, smirking over her glass of _far_-too-expensive wine.

Minna forced out her own smile, determined not to let the woman across from her get the upper hand like last time. "Or the setting… or the food…"

Marseille chuckled, "Then you should enjoy it while you can."

With the same grin, Minna made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat. "So, just how did you get in to acting?" she asked lightly but taking a large swig from her own wine glass.

"I thought I said no interviews," Marseille asked in good humor, one eyebrow quirked.

"We're on a date," Minna explained. "It only makes sense for me to want to find out about my date, doesn't it?"

Taking a bite from her food, Marseille looked thoughtful for a moment, swallowed, and smirked again. "Alright, I'll bite."

"So," Minna took another drink from her glass, "what made you start acting?"

* * *

Dinner went considerably better than Minna had expected, and she frequently found herself surprised that she was having such a good time. Her company seemed much more relaxed when she had a few drinks in her (or, rather, when they both had a few drinks in them).

When the check came, Marseille paid for both of them, despite Minna's protests, and they left the restaurant in a taxi at Marseille's insistence. By the time they had arrived at the Hotel Adlon, Minna had been convinced that she should see the grand suite where Marseille was staying, if only for posterity.

Minna realized, about half-way through their second bottle of wine, that Marseille was really quite convincing when she tried. With anyone else or in any other situation, Minna would never spend time in a hotel with someone she had just met, especially if that person was a celebrity.

But Marseille had a way with words, and it didn't take much coercion for Minna to think that a good-night kiss would be a good way to end the night.

* * *

When Minna woke the next morning, it was to unfamiliar sheets and an unfamiliar room. She slapped a hand to her face, exasperated at her actions the night before. Glancing to her side, a single open, blue eye stared at her, obvious amusement shining in it.

Minna glared at eye's owner. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" Marseille asked, propping herself up on her elbows. "Give you the best night of your life?"

"You-" Minna started, but her gaze dropped down to the rest of Marseille's body, and she was forcibly reminded that she was naked. That they were both very naked.

Marseille laughed as Minna flushed and clutched the sheets to her upper body. "It's not like I haven't seen it all already, you know," she said, laughing even more as Minna turned even redder.

"Are you always like this the morning after?"

Body still shaking in amusement, Marseille rolled over, wrapping an arm around her beet-red bedmate. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered," she said unabashedly. "Like that first time we met when you-"

Minna pushed herself up and clamped a hand firmly over Marseille's mouth, successfully stopping her from finishing her sentence. "_Please_ don't bring that up. That was hardly professional of me."

Peeling the fingers from her mouth, Marseille showed Minna her infuriating smirk. "And sleeping with me was?" In a second, Minna was as red as she had been just a moment before.

"You really are arrogant, aren't you?" Minna asked, studying Marseille's confidant face in half amazement, half-annoyance.

Grin still in place, Marseille used her other hand to pull Minna's face down to hers. "Do me a favor," she said, voice low and eyes locked with Minna's. "Next time you want to shut me up, use your mouth."

Marseille, apparently deciding that actions speak louder than words, showed Minna exactly what she meant. Any retort Minna could have come up with was lost to Marseille's lips, and any train of thought disappeared as Marseille pulled Minna on top of her.

"How about we be unprofessional again?"

* * *

***Warning*:** This story contains implied sex. Oh wait, this might be a little late...

**A/N:** It's AU time! I couldn't, for the life of me, think of an inventive way of putting Minna and Marseille together, so they got stuck in a different universe. Victor, I hope you like AU's.

If this chapter isn't an indication to you, I don't plan on seriously warning for anything I put in this fic, so long as I think fits in the "T" rating. This will probably be as risqué as I plan on getting (risqué = mentions of nudity, implied naked bedroom wrestling, kissing with an aforementioned lack of clothes on).

Historic References:

- _Bunte_, full name: _Bunte Illustrierte_, is a weekly celebrity, gossip, news, and lifestyle magazine. Originally named _Das Ufer_, in 1954 it added illustrations and got a name change. It is one of Germany's most popular magazines.

- Hotel Adlon is possibly Berlin's most luxurious hotel. Room prices run from €290 (about $394 or £202) to €12,500 (about $16998 or £8,709). It's also notable for being the hotel where Michael Jackson held a baby out of the window.


	9. Take the Bitter with the Sweet

**For: **Logan not here

**Prompt: **Mio-time for Perrine (a tea-party for just the two of them)

* * *

"This is Darjeeling," Perrine explained, offering Mio the pouch she had just plucked from the teashop shelf. "It's a black tea, and it's very popular in Britannia."

Mio opened the small bag and sniffed the contents; it sure _looked _like every other pile of dried leaves in the store. She didn't have much more time to regard the pouch, however, as Perrine handed her an open tin.

"Earl Grey, also common in Britannia," Perrine said. "It used to be a black tea, flavored with bergamot orange oil, but the name can be applied to any tea that contains oil of bergamot."

Once again, Mio lifted the container to her nose, but pulled back in surprise. "We've had this before, haven't we?"

Perrine, obviously distracted by the sheer drink variety offered by the store, turned to Mio, smiling. "You can tell? That's one of Lynne's favorites to prepare, so she asked me to pick some up."

They continued down the aisles, Perrine scouring them quickly but efficiently, while Mio occasionally inspected a box or tin or bag.

"I'm surprised you know so much about tea," Mio started, picking up a tall tin with a Fusoan label on the side and lid. "It's kind of cute."

"C-cute?" Perrine asked, voice strained.

Mio looked in front of her, but only saw the gold of Perrine's hair, obscuring her face as she stared intently at the tea in her hand. She smiled.

"Yeah," she reiterated. "Cute."

When Perrine finally gathered the courage to look at her, Mio had a lopsided grin on her face, and she was holding an exotically decorated container.

She held it out for Perrine to see. "Mind if we get some?" she asked, somehow aware that Perrine wouldn't say no.

* * *

The base was always eerily silent in the middle of the night. Mio didn't consider herself a night person, but there was something calming about the silence. It was the perfect time for quick cup of tea before she set off for bed.

"Major?"

Mio looked over her shoulder and spotted Perrine in the dining room doorway. Smiling warmly, she waved her over.

"Couldn't sleep?" Mio asked refilling her teacup and offering it Perrine, who nodded. "Me either."

Perrine accepted the cup and took a small sip as Mio went to fetch another from one of the kitchen cupboards. "This is…."

"It's called 'Sencha'. We drank it a lot back in Fuso," Mio explained, sitting down and pouring herself a new cup.

"This is what you wanted to buy?" Perrine asked, curiously regarding her reflection, green-tinted from the color of the tea.

Mio hummed a little in confirmation. "I was surprised to see it outside of Fuso, so I couldn't resist getting some. Tastes good, doesn't it?"

"It's," Perrine trailed off, taking another sip and letting the liquid rest on her tongue. "A little bitter," she finished honestly.

Unable to stop herself, Mio burst out laughing. Perrine's bemused look did nothing to help the situation.

"M-major? What's-"

Mio cut her off, still laughing, "That was surprisingly blunt. But I guess that one of the things that makes you so cute."

"Cute again? Sometimes I just don't understand how you can just say things like that so easily," Perrine spluttered, bright red.

Chuckling under her breath, Mio patted Perrine a few times on the head. "I can say it because it's true," she said simply, taking a long drink of her now-lukewarm tea. Looking at the cup in her hand, she cracked another grin, "You're right; it is bitter."

Perrine, lightly pink but smiling herself, nodded, "Yes, but it tastes good."

* * *

**A/N:** Oh look, a short one for once.

Writing stories about tea is difficult when you can't mention China (Fumikane, you really need to get on that naming thing). It's even worse if you consider that the scientific name for the plant tea is made from, _Camellia sinensis_, includes the Latin word for "Chinese."

This was supposed to be a tea-party, but the idea wasn't taking off as well as I hoped, so Perrine gets bonding in a teashop and over late night green tea. I'm sure she's pleased with both (indirect kiss, anyone?).

Tea References:

- First off, everything thing said about tea in the actual story is true.

- Because Earl Grey is flavored with oil of bergamot, it has a distinctive taste and smell, so it's easily recognizable amongst tea-drinkers. It was named for Charles Grey, 2nd Earl of Grey and British prime minister in the 1830's, who received said flavored tea as a gift from a Chinese bureaucrat.

- Sencha is the most common and popular form of green tea in Japan. Japanese green tea, as compared to the Chinese or Korean kinds, is less oxidized and is steeped at a lower temperature, so it has a more bitter taste than the other kinds.


	10. Give It Time

**For: **OZ7UP

**Prompt:** Keiko/Marseille, at the point where their respect and admiration for each other becomes something more.

* * *

"_Not bad, not bad. You're better at flying than I pinned you for."_

"_Hey, I wasn't nicknamed 'Lightning of the Fuso Sea' for nothing."_

You can hear her next to you on the mattress; you can hear the sheets rustle as she moves. She shifts again, but this time, she's got an arm wrapped around you and her head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

The way her warm breath feels on your skin makes you shiver.

"Can't sleep?" she whispers in your ear.

You hum contentedly in response, eyes closed, but you sneak an arm underneath her and pull it up around her so you can hold her close.

"_Fifteen rounds per Neuroi. I feel like bragging about you to the girls back home."_

"_What's the point? I'm sure they've already heard about me."_

You watch as she exchanges her strikers for a pair of sunglasses. There's a grin on your face; you can feel it, but you can't be bothered to care. Once again, she's shown you the grace and skill that makes her stand out.

She sees you and mimics your expression. She takes her time walking over to you though, and you can feel your heartbeat pick up.

"How'd it look from down here?" she asks, smirk in place.

You shrug noncommittally, dropping your smile. "I think that last one took sixteen bullets," you tell her, and you laugh as she smacks you on the back of the head.

"_How was Fuso? They give you a hero's welcome?"_

"_Hardly, but I did get some good sake… hey, something wrong?"_

"_With me? Not a chance. I'm just glad you're back."_

When you slip into the bed you share with her, the first thing you notice is how empty the bed feels without her weight next to you.

You know she'll be fine in Romagna, she's with the Strike Witches after all, but you can't help but be uneasy when she's not around. It always feels like something's missing, even if you've only known her for a few years, and, considering your usual sentimentality towards your comrades, that shouldn't long enough for her to be so integral in your life.

Your hand finds her cold pillow, and you chuckle a little in the darkness. One part of your mind protests that smooth cotton should be warm, but the other, more sensible half tells you to stop acting like a lovesick teenager.

That doesn't stop you from switching the pillows anyway or falling asleep surrounded by her scent like you should be.

"_How's it feel?"_

"_Horrible. This thing's not comfortable at all."_

"_Sorry about that, but the higher-ups insisted."_

"_It's fine, it's just…wait!"_

"_Tina? Tina!"_

You're checking the supply shipment the squadron just received when you feel someone grab you from behind. You tense up at first, but you already know who it is.

She drops her head to your shoulder, and you reach up to pat her head a few times. You value these moments when she's not afraid to show affection.

"Miss me?" she murmurs, but you don't answer. She already knows what you would say, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for a little while, her arms around you and you leaning into the embrace. You only break apart when you hear the Neuroi alarm in the background.

She sighs and steps away from you. "Guess that's my cue."

You nod. "This place was a lot quieter when you weren't around," you tell her as you both head to where the strikers are kept.

She doesn't say anything; she simply flashes you a smile and runs off.

"_What are you waiting for?"_

"_I feel like I'm taking advantage of a child."_

"_Child? I'm fifteen, you know." _

"_How does that make this any better? I'm twenty-four; that's nine years."_

"_What's nine years between lovers?"_

"_Nothing… if you were legal. And last I checked, we aren't quite lovers yet, kid."_

"_We would be if you just kissed me already."_

"_You're lucky I find your demanding side endearing."_

She calls out to you, sleepily, one night when you're running over some paperwork. It reminds you that she's still just teenager fighting in a war and trying to be an adult, and that makes you smile.

You blow out the candle you were using to see the sand-stained papers in your hand and make your way to the bed. When you pull back the covers and slip in next to her, you notice that the bed is warm, like it should be.

Curling up to her, you plant a kiss on her forehead before draping an arm across her side. She snuggles into you, but you can't tell if she's still awake or already asleep.

It doesn't matter though, because she's right there, and since you two got together, it just feels right for her to be there.

You know when you wake up tomorrow, there will be Neuroi to fight and troublesome superiors to deal with, but you won't care about any of that now. After all, right now you're with her, surrounded by her warmth and her scent, and that's all you need for a good night's sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** The Marseille in my head likes cuddling and bedroom scenes.

Has anyone else noticed that Keiko/Marseille qualifies for age-gap? Keiko would have been twenty-two when she was put in charge of the 31st Joint Fighter Squadron, which was back in '41 if I remember correctly. That means Marseille would have _thirteen_. It took me two days of writing for that to hit me, but I like age-gap (to a degree, mind you), so it was all cool.

Also, Happy 10th Chapter, guys!


	11. Just the Sound

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Something wrong? Calling out of the blue…"

"No, I just wanted to hear you."

"Hear me? My voice isn't anything special."

"Maybe not to you."

"So you like it? That's pretty cute, coming from you."

"I just… nothing."

"What? You can tell me anything."

"…I kind of just want to curl up in your voice."

"…"

"Hey, you there?

"Yeah! I was just thinking…"

"About…?"

"Your cute side's dangerous, isn't it?"

"D-dangerous?"

"That last line? I could've died. At least I've still got something on you."

"What?

"I love you."

"Ah…"

"Sound good?"

"Heh… you don't even know."

* * *

**A/N:** It's come to my attention that this series isn't much of a "drabble" collection (maybe I should change the story summary), so I tried my hand at a "true drabble." 100 words exactly, according to MSWord.

Purposeful ambiguity means you're welcome to attach whatever pairing you feel fits to this one. I wrote it with about four different (legitimate, not crack) pairings in mind, so there should be some variety in pairing choice.

If you've got a request pending, I'll be getting to it soon, so don't worry. I like my four-five day update schedule, but I didn't have a request ready, so you get dialouge-only fluff. And just as a heads-up, I've got something special planned for the next update, so any requests will be sitting on my hard-drive for a little while.


	12. Lucky Number Thirteen

Of all the disadvantages that came with a winter birthday, having to go to work on it was by far the worse. Shirley trudged down the hall to her apartment, rubbing her stiff neck, tired from the long day at the office.

As she unlocked the door and turned the golden but worn doorknob, she sighed, knowing that her friends would drag her to a bar in celebration of her finally being old enough to drink. When the door opened, though, she was greeted by confetti and streamers and a party she already knew she wouldn't want to clean up.

Takei was already sitting awkwardly sitting on the couch, a large cake placed on the coffee table in front of her, and the crowd made sure to quickly seat Shirley down beside her.

The cake had white and bright pink icing and more candles than Shirley thought was possible to fit on it so that the writing could still be read. The words "Happy Birthday Junko and Shirley" shined slightly in the candle light.

The crowd went on to sing "Happy Birthday" in, from what Shirley could tell, at least five different languages, and after some mild encouragement, both she and Takei blew out all the tiny flames. They cut the cake and poured enough alcohol to make the local bar rich and gave the joint-birthday girls congratulatory hugs and shoulder pats.

In a few hours, the last of the party-goers departed, leaving a messy apartment and its exhausted residents behind.

* * *

Shirley sat in the pitch darkness of the apartment's small kitchen, legs propped up on the kitchen table. With one hand, she swirled the liquid in a plastic cup.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" The voice sounded equal parts tired and amused.

"I would," Shirley agreed, tipping her head back to look at her roommate and grinning, "but we've got all this booze, and I'm finally old enough to drink it legally."

Takei sighed, returning the smile. "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Especially not at," she paused and checked the stove clock, "12:38 in the morning."

"Happy belated twenty-third," Shirley joked, lifting her glass in the air. "It's water, don't worry."

"Happy twenty-first," Takei responded laughingly as she walked up to Shirley and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "But I think it's bedtime."

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Takei stepped away and grabbed one of Shirley's arms to pull her to the bedroom.

Shirley placed the cup on the table and followed obediently, "Does this mean I'm getting birthday sex?"

Chuckling, Takei slipped her hand down to intertwine their fingers. "Only if you keep your voice down; Lucchini's asleep in the guest room."

"We can go ahead and wake her up. She was the one who let the others into the apartment, anyway."

"Yes, but do we really want to hear about in the office tomorrow? You know she would tell everyone," Takei answered, yanking Shirley into the bedroom and closing the door behind them.

Shirley smiled and sat down on the bed, arms inviting Takei to join her. "Here's a solution: let's skip tomorrow."

Takei didn't say anything in response, but as she and Shirley fell to the bed, lips locked together, they both knew they'd be calling in sick.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy birthday Shirley, Takei, Chuck, and Junichi!

In retrospect, I'm actually kind of ashamed of writing this when I consider that Chuck is still alive, and I just put him in a genderbent, homosexual crack!pairing with a long-dead Japanese pilot. It's good to know he'll probably never see this. Probably... hopefully.

This is actually one of those strange, awkward, wish-fulfillment crack!pairings where you put two of your favorite characters together because you can. Takei is by far my favorite Fusoan witch (because, really, how can you not like Takei?), and Shirley is probably my favorite witch in general (which I blame on a combination of growing up a Chuck fan and my soft spot for fellow West Virginians). Anyway, I hope you readers enjoy this product of sleep deprivation and Shirley/Takei fanart.


	13. A Summer Place

**For:** Anonymous

**Prompt:** Eilanya, "those dashing Suomus uniforms"

* * *

The streets of Vienna were always crowded in the summer time; tourists loved to flock to the city when weather was nice. It was considered the musical capital of the world, after all.

Sanya loved that about Vienna. She loved being able learn music in a city where she could meet people from all over the world, even if she had class most of the day and was generally too shy to approach anyone.

From the practice room window, she could watch the people mingling on the streets. On one side of the road, a group of sharply dressed soldiers in light blue uniforms bunched together. The other side had a collection of girls, all staring at the soldiers and giggling amongst themselves.

It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to visit the city while they were on leave, most likely because the city always had something going on. It was even less rare for the local or girls to flirt with them while they were around because they were fresh and different from what the girls were used to.

Sanya almost envied the way they could be so laid-back while she had to study. She was in Vienna for only one reason: to become a great pianist. As boring as it may be for a girl her age, she didn't have the time to have a fling with someone who would be gone in a week anyway.

She sighed and pushed herself off the window ledge, stretching her fingers and deciding now was as good a time as any to get back to the piano. Just as she was about to turn, though, one of the soldiers caught her eye.

The soldier was female; that much was obvious even from the second floor. Her uniform was as neatly pressed and her hair as lightly colored as everyone else in the group, but she stood out somehow.

Sanya stared for a few seconds, before realizing just what she was doing and quickly retreating to her instrument. As she turned, though, she was sure she saw that soldier wink at her.

* * *

There was a small café across from the conservatory entrance, popular with music students for its closeness to the school, relaxing atmosphere, and the fact that it was generally unknown amongst tourists. Sanya had always enjoyed stopping by, whether it was with a few of her friends or alone, and grabbing a cup of coffee or tea.

It was because of the café's status as a "local's joint" that she had quite the shock when she walked inside to find it crowded. Unused to the shear amount of people concentrated in one place, Sanya struggled to make her way to the counter, fully planning on drinking her coffee in a corner and leaving the second she finished.

The crowd had other ideas for her, though, and she was tossed about in the sea of people. Clutching her music bag to her chest, she somehow made it to the counter, ordered, and received her drink without much incident.

She was on her way out the door, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. When she had spun around to see who had stopped her, she was greeted by a confident smirk and a neat, blue uniform.

"I think this is yours," the soldier explained, holding out a piano score. Sanya flushed with realization, before mechanically accepting the parchment paper and thanking the girl.

Spinning on her heel, again, Sanya embarrassedly fled from the café.

* * *

Just two days later, after she had decided it was safe enough to brave the café again, Sanya noticed the same soldier from before, sitting at one of the tiny, two-person table, uncharacteristically alone considering how popular military personnel were with the public.

Doing her best to avoid eye contact, Sanya gave her order to the cashier, collected her tea, and sat down on the other side of the room. She felt somewhat guilty for the way she acted the last time they interacted, however, so she took a large gulp from her cup, steeled herself, and approached the soldier.

"This place is a lot nicer when it's quiet, isn't it?" she asked stiffly from her inexperience with conversation starting.

The girl, who, if her expression was anything to go by, had noticed Sanya from the second she entered the building, nodded and gestured to the seat across from her.

"I discovered this place last time I had leave, and the others wanted to tag along," she explained. "I guess you can blame me for the crowd." She finished her sentence with a grin

Sanya took the offered seat, but fidgeted awkwardly under the gaze of the other girl. "I just wanted to thank you again for picking up my music. I have a recital coming up soon, so losing it would have been bad," she trailed off, wondering how much she say about herself.

"So you're a music student?" The soldier mused appraisingly. "It fits."

"Fits?" Sanya asked incredulously.

The other girl smiled like she had just come to some great realization. "Yeah! You know your way around the city, and you're way to delicate-looking to be a soldier like me. Who other than a music student spends as much time around here as a music-loving military woman? Mind telling me which conservatory you go to?"

"The Konservatorium Wien," Sanya answered. "It's right across the street. You could visit if you want." She pulled a scrap of paper from her bag and scribbled a short note on it. "Here, if you stop by and someone gives you trouble, you can just show them that."

The soldier accepted the note, still grinning, "'Sanya,' huh? Pretty name. Mine's Eila."

Sanya nodded, standing. "Alright… Eila. But I should get going. It was nice meeting you.'

"Eila" only had the chance to bob her head in acknowledgement before Sanya turned to leave, but Sanya was sure she heard her say "The pleasure was mine," as she left.

* * *

Barely muffled squeals interrupted Sanya's practice the next afternoon. Heaving a sigh but secretly pleased with the distraction, she stuck her head out of the practice room. The hallway was divided female and male, the former crowding to one corner while the latter looked surly and vaguely jealous. Amidst the excited students, a familiar color scheme stuck out: pale hair, purple eyes, blue jacket, white tights.

Eila looked perfectly at home surrounded by an adoring crowd, as she smiled and joked with the girls. One of the boys scoffed and made an obscene comment about "those dashing Suomus uniforms."

When they noticed Sanya, though, standing in the doorway looking bemused, they assumed an expression of shame, presumably for cursing in front of her, but they also looked pleased that she wasn't following the other girls.

She was about to ask just what had happened, when she felt a hand on her shoulder and glares from everyone else in the hall. Surely enough, Eila was standing beside her, a mixture of smugness and eagerness on her face.

Sanya invited her into the room, waved slightly to the people still watching them, and closed the door behind them.

"I hope the others didn't give you too much trouble," Sanya told her, searching for a place where Eila could sit. When she found none, she sat on the piano bench and motioned for Eila to do the same.

Taking her place on the other half of the bench, Eila waved Sanya off. "You get used to it, when you walk around in clothes like this."

Sanya nodded; she couldn't blame those attracted to the well-dressed soldiers. Vienna was a peaceful city in a country more known for its culture than its militarism, so visitors like Eila brought the romanticism and heroics of war to a town that rarely experienced it first-hand.

"They are rather 'dashing,'" Sanya admitted, fiddling with the paper propped against the piano's music stand.

"What was that?"

"Do you have a favorite composer? Any piece you'd like to hear?" Sanya asked instead of repeating herself. She felt too embarrassed to, anyway.

Eila had a look of confusion on her face, as though she was aware Sanya had said something else, but she didn't comment on it. Rather she said, "Chopin, maybe? I suppose Bach would be good, too."

"How about… a nocturne, then? I just finished learning this one." Sanya fished through the stacks placed on a small table near the piano. Placing the tan sheets on the stand, she readied her hands but paused. "Sorry, but…" she trailed off, scooting closer to Eila, "I'm going to need some more room."

Sanya was aware that the bench, while large enough for both of them, didn't have the surface area for both of them to sit comfortably if she were play with proper posture. She also knew that the nocturne had a small range that didn't require her to sit fully in the middle of the piano, but she still pushed into the warm body beside her.

"It's alright," Eila muttered, face red and angled away, but she didn't look upset or opposed to having Sanya pressed so closely against her.

Fingers poised delicately over the piano keys, Sanya started the piece, trying her best to ignore her audience. It was difficult, but the music was still fresh in her mind and muscles. A few minutes passed, and she lifted her hands from the keys and her foot from the sustain pedal. Glancing to her side, Sanya was shocked to see Eila staring fully at her, pink tinge coloring her face.

Eila cleared her throat awkwardly and faced forward. "That was beautiful," she complimented, her voice stiff.

"Thank you," Sanya responded as she also turned her to face her music. The atmosphere was thick with something Sanya wasn't particularly familiar with, but she didn't dare move from where she was nearly sitting on Eila's lap.

They continued to sit in the strained silence when another student burst into the practice room, frantically calling for Sanya to get to Professor Eder's studio before he blows his top. Sanya quickly sorted her music and stood, apologizing to Eila profusely for having to leave so soon, but Eila nodded and told her that she would show herself out.

Professor Eder may have been the sternest piano teacher in the conservatory, but Sanya found it hard to concentrate of her lesson, mind wandering to pale blue and how cool her side felt without someone so close beside her.

* * *

The next time they ran into each other, this time in a tiny, boutique-like paper store that Sanya frequented to buy stationery so she could write to her parents in Orussia. Eila was standing in front of a postcard stand. When Sanya noticed her, she had a card in her hand, and she was scanning it like she wasn't sure where the price tag was.

Smiling lightly, Sanya walked over to her, placed her hand on the card to point out the price, and said "It costs five schilling. We just keep running into each other, don't we?"

Eila jumped a little in surprise and grinned uneasily. "Y-yeah," she agreed, looking torn between happiness and nervousness. "My sister wanted me to write to her, but I didn't have any paper…"

"You have a sister?" Sanya asked as she plucked a postcard of her own to inspect.

"Older," Eila explained, "She's in the military, too, but we don't see each other much."

Sanya nodded, replacing the card in her hand with another. "Growing up together must have been fun. I'm an only child."

"It's not all that great. You fight just as much you get along," Eila chuckled, fond memories written all over her face.

"Do you like being a soldier?" Sanya asked suddenly. She put the card in her hand back in its place on the rack and focused all her attention on Eila, who blushed under Sanya's gaze.

Eila pondered the thought, scratching the back of her head and shifting her weight from one foot to another. "I guess…" she began, "it's just a job to me. I'm just a pilot, so it's pretty laid-back, and we get to mess around a lot." Turning to Sanya, she grinned. "But, it's pretty fun, so I guess I like it."

Sanya returned the smile and nodded, feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction and disappointment boil around in her chest. She spun on her heel and prepared to pay for the stack of paper in her hands when, Eila reached out to stop her.

"Wait! We're, uh, leaving tomorrow," she said, face red and eyes darting around in every direction what appeared to be an attempt to avoid looking at Sanya. "I wasn't sure if I'd be able to see you again before that, so, uh, thanks. It's been a fun week." As she finished, she peeked up in a way that made Sanya's heart beat just a little faster.

Brushing past Eila, Sanya walked back to the postcards, grabbed one, and filled in her address. She held out the card and five schilling for the cost.

"I have class tomorrow," she explained. "But if you tell me when you leave, I could try to be there. If not, you can always write me."

Eila took the card and money, her face still pink, but she cracked a grin and kept it on her face until Sanya had already paid and left.

* * *

Sanya woke to the sun breaking through her poorly shaded window. She could still remember yesterday: when a large group of similarly-dressed soldiers waited on train platform, when Eila introduced her to "Nipa", when Eila looked ready to burst as Sanya thanked her for giving her the closest thing to a "summer romance" she's ever had, when Eila hugged her right before stepping on the train…

She was happy, although she knew she already missed her new friend, but she also knew she could expect to hear from her again.

She was in a slight daze as she prepared for her day, but she managed to get her clothes on the proper way, and that was all that really mattered at that moment. She was pulling on her coat when she noticed a rustling sound, and, checking her pocket, she pulled a crumpled scrap of paper from it.

Unfolding it, she noticed an address, written in an unfamiliar language, but she recognized the most important parts, "Eila" and "Suomus."

Sanya smiled to herself as she packed her new stationery in her music bag, planning on writing Eila a letter when she took a break from practicing. She already knew she wouldn't get much work done today.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I'm changing the story summary from "drabble" to "ficlet", because I doubt that, by any stretch of the imagination, this could be considered a drabble. I'm really not sure how this got to be so long.

With this, I'll be returning to my normal request schedule, so if you've got one out, I'll be getting to it eventually.

Historic References:

- Frédéric Chopin (1810 - 1849) was a Romantic composer, notable for only ever composing for the piano. He composed 21 nocturnes and helped popularize the style. He died of tuberculosis at age 39.

- The schilling was the Austrian currency from 1924 to 1938 and from 1945 to 1999, when the Euro was introduced. At the time of its replacement, €1 = 13.7603 schilling.


	14. All in the Family

**For: **xZero84x

**Prompt:** Eila and Aurora's thoughts on each other

* * *

For a soldier in the middle of a war, nothing was quite as uplifting as mail call. To be reminded of family and friends back home, waiting, was one of the few saving graces for the teenage girls fighting humanity's greatest enemy.

Aurora considered herself lucky to be part of a regiment where the commander stressed to families how important it was for them to contact their daughters, despite the distance or difficulties in delivering the letters. She didn't get much mail, but she still saw how her fellow soldiers reacted receiving a crumpled envelope or seeing their sisters-in-arms get something.

She was, in fact, usually the last person to hear if she had a letter in the mail sack. Someone would burst into whatever tent she was relaxing in, gripping a piece of paper wet from the snow.

Nearly all of her mail came from family, and most of that was from her parents. But every now and then she'd get a letter postmarked from Britannia or Romagna (or once, much to Aurora's surprise, Suomus), and that always caused a stir with her fellow soldiers.

Today was an otherwise normal day: they fought a few ground Neuroi and waited for any other signs of the enemy. Aurora took off her strikers the moment she got back to base and retired to their make-shift barracks. There she pulled a week-old newspaper from under her pillow and flipped to the article she had been reading when the Neuroi attack interrupted her.

The other girls filed in slowly, shivering from the cold but joking with each other. Some sorted through the daily mail as they walked in, handing it out and teasing the recipients about the senders. Aurora, used to the noise, only looked up when she felt a cold spot on her thighs. A white envelope sat on her legs, slightly wrinkled from its time in the mail sack.

She wasn't expecting a letter today (or any day for that matter; they always managed to be pleasant surprises), but she recognized the military issue envelope, and she could tell the others did as well. Before she could even open it, every girl in the tent surrounded her bunk, eager to hear about the letter's contents.

Aurora took out a pocket knife and sliced the top of the envelope in half. Looking inside, she noticed it held both pictures and paper, and, acknowledging the curiosity of her fellow witches, pulled the letter from the split paper.

"What'd she say?" one asked, voicing the thoughts of the others gathered around Aurora's bed.

"Hmm… she went to space," Aurora read proudly. The room erupted in chatter but silenced the second Aurora spoke again. "She disobeyed orders and was put on house arrest."

In a second, the room was noisy again with laughter and, much to Aurora's amusement, squeals. She scanned the rest of the letter during her audience's distraction and was about to pull the pictures from the envelope, when another curious soldier spoke up.

"What's she like?"

Aurora paused. "Eila's…" she started, thinking about the time she spent with her little sister, "stubborn. And abrasive and sneaky."

The crowd, unsatisfied with her answer, waited patiently for her to go on.

"But she's reliable and tough. Someone you can count on, if you're willing to put up with a few pranks."

"Were you close growing up?" someone asked, taking Aurora's willingness to answer such personal questions as a good sign.

Aurora sighed, rubbing the back of her head. "I guess… we had snowball fights, and when I signed up for the army, she insisted on going with me to the recruitment office. I don't think we were any closer than normal siblings," she finished, shrugging.

She took one of the pictures from the envelope (a shot of Eila with that Orussian girl she always raved about), and passed it around the crowd. She did the same with the rest, until she saw the last one and grinned.

"The captain's smiling!" someone yelled, voice laced with surprise. When the others looked up, the room exploded in noise, all shocked that their cold superior could make such an expression.

Face impassive again, Aurora slipped the picture into one of her uniform's inner pockets, stood from the bed, and said "The cold hasn't frozen my facial muscles just yet." Patting a few soldiers' head as she left the tent, she walked into the frigid, European air, stretching.

* * *

Nearly hanging out of a castle window, Eila glared at the paper in her hand, scoffing as the writing described snow and chilling winds. A light breeze blew, and for a second, the hot weather wasn't so bothersome.

"A letter from home?" Yoshika asked, walking into the room and wincing from training.

"Not quite," Eila answered curtly. "It's from my sister."

"You have a sister?" This time it was Lynne, entering from the kitchen.

Eila nodded. "Older. She's a tank witch stationed in Suomus."

"What's she like?"

Pushing herself up from the window ledge, Eila regarded the growing crowd. Yoshika and Lynne were already seated on the couch, eager to hear more. Shirley had just walked in, Lucchini hanging from her shoulders.

"She's serious and a little cold. She likes to read."

"The cool beauty type, eh?" Shirley joked, taking a seat herself. "Go on."

Eila stuck her tongue out at her in good humor, but continued. "She's usually pretty laid-back, but I hear she's hardheaded on the battlefield. People usually say we look alike, but our personalities are completely different." Her captive audience nodded in apparent knowledge, as if they personally understood the differences between Eila and her sister.

"How close are you?" Lynne asked.

Face scrunched in consideration, Eila rubbed the back of her head. "We were closer when we were younger; Aurora would buy me books and read to me. She's a lot older, though, and she signed up to be a witch when the war started, so we don't talk much anymore."

"You still write," Yoshika reminded her, smiling empathically.

Eila smirked but didn't comment on it. Instead she tipped the envelope in her hand over and dumped a photograph from it. Flipping it over and examining the picture, she asked, "Wanna see what she looks like?"

The photo was nothing more than the standard, uniformed picture the military requires that all personnel take, but the woman in it had a certain air about her that radiated from the photo. She didn't smile, but she there was amusement obvious in her eyes, like someone behind the photographer had been trying to get her to laugh.

The other passed around the picture, pointing out similarities and differences in the two sisters appearances. Lucchini laughed about how their hair was identical, while Yoshika and Lynne talked about each of their faces.

"You better not show this to Barkhorn, or she'll get upset that someone's beat here as 'world's best big sister,'" Shirley told her. When Eila looked at her in confusion, she tapped the back of the picture where another note was written.

Taking back the photograph, Eila read the note and chuckled. She tucked the photo into one of her uniform pockets and leaned back on the window ledge. The heat was a little more bearable now.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy Birthday Eila and Ilmari!

I imagine Aurora as, excuse my TvTropes talk, the perfect "Cool Big Sis" with a dash of "Aloof Big Brother" thrown in for good measure. I also like to think that she looks enough like Eila to be easily recognized as family, but not so similar that they're practically twins. But this is anime, and nearly everyone looks the same if you took away the individual hairstyles or eye colors, so...

No historic references because I didn't really do any research, but I'm pretty sure I remember hearing that Aurora was a tank witch and that the real life Aarne bought Ilmari a book on the Red Baron that got him into flying. Just don't go quoting me.


	15. The List

**For:** OZ7UP

**Prompt:** AU Takei/Mio, in which Takei confesses to Mio after a night out in town.

* * *

The perfect date, a goodnight kiss, surprise flowers at work… Takei's friends liked to call it her "romantic bucket list." She would laugh and deny it, but the description was accurate; it was a list of everything she wanted to experience before she died.

Only about one quarter of the items had been crossed off, all tame in comparison to the ones written later on the list (it started with "Fall in love" and ended with "Go all the way").

Tonight, though, she felt like a bad date, keeping the crumpled piece of paper in her mind during a movie and the following dinner. She went home, barely avoiding the goodbye kiss she really didn't want to have. Takei dropped on the couch in her apartment, tired and disappointed.

"Bad night, I take it," Federica, her roommate and boss, asked, sitting on the little space left by Takei's body. She patted her leg in sympathy.

"Well, there won't be a second date," Takei explained. She sat up to give the other girl some room.

Nodding in understanding, Federica offered her the beer she had been drinking. "Nothing a little alcohol can't fix. What ever happened to that girl you said you were in love with?"

"You can't just tell a good friend you love her," Takei laughed. She took a swig from the bottle.

"Yes you can!" Federica told her, grabbing Takei's purse and pulling out the list. "It says it right here: 'Confess to someone.'"

Takei snatched the paper away and looked offended. "How do you know what's on that? I've kept it a secret from everyone at work."

"I have my ways," Federica told her, chuckling and taking back her drink. "Tell her; if she's anything like you say she is, it'll be alright."

"And I'm sure you have so much experience with that," Takei muttered as she fell back to the couch cushions. "There's always tomorrow right?"

Federica patted her thigh again. "Right… unless you mean literally, because you'll be meeting with designers and clients all day."

Swatting her hand away, Takei glared at her but smiled. "Don't remind me."

* * *

Working for Pantaloni Rossi was a career most would call "fulfilling." The pay was higher than average, the hours were reasonable, and they worked with more famous people than even the most imaginative child could dream of.

Takei worked in management, which meant she spent her time organizing photo shoots, arranging times for the designers and models to meet, and making sure the fickle clients were kept happy. Some would consider it stressful, but it was exactly what she expected when she applied to work for Romagna's most lucrative fashion line.

She had busy days, but they were rarely as busy as the day she had today. Picking up her desk phone, she dialed the number Mio had given the last time they had seen each other. It upset her to cancel the lunch date they had set up, but she had a job to do.

Takei sighed in resignation as the phone rang, but when Mio answered, her heart skipped a beat.

"Hello?"

"Hey. I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Takei said, glad her voice was steady despite her heart nearly beating out of her chest.

"Not at all! The players are taking a water break, but I can't talk to long." In the background, Takei could hear groaning.

Chuckling, she shook her head at how little Mio's changed. "Don't push your players too hard, alright?"

"Ha, If you say so, Junko."

"…Listen, about lunch today…" Takei started, nervousness returning. "Could we reschedule? I just don't have the time today."

The silence as she waited for Mio's anwer was deafening, despite the noise right outside her office door. Finally (Takei let out a heavy sigh and flushed immediately for fear that Mio heard her) she got her answer.

"How about dinner then? Since you can't do lunch, it'll make up for it."

Takei shouldn't have been surprised; after all, inviting someone out so casually is just the kind of thing Mio would do, but that knowledge didn't stop her heartbeat from picking up again.

"I... guess it's a date."

* * *

Takei wasn't sure how they got on the topic of their school days, and frankly, she didn't care. Mio sat across from her, waving her arms around madly as she reenacted a scene from a school festival. The small restaurant was filled with equally loud and excited patrons, but Takei, through their shared laughter, still insisted that Mio keep her gestures to a minimum.

"…and Tetsuko shot out of the dressing room and chased us, swinging a shinai around," Mio said, her voice barely understandable from her chuckles.

"Wakamoto-sempai? I can't believe it!"

Mio took a sip of her drink and continued, "We ran right into Kitagou-sensei. She gave us an earful for using the kendo equipment without any safety gear."

"I can't believe I missed all this! I should have been born a year earlier," Takei sighed.

Before long, a waiter came to collect the check, and the two stood, ready to leave. They explored the city streets, side-by-side, enjoying the cool air of the night and each other's company.

Inhaling deeply, Takei spun around, arms out, her laughter echoing off the Romagnan scenery.

"You're still pretty young at heart, aren't you, Junko?" Mio asked her suddenly, a wide smile on her face.

"What's that mean?"

Mio shrugged. "You act so mature all the time, sometimes I forget you're younger than me, I guess." She punctuated her sentence were a booming laugh.

Takei stopped twirling to look straight at Mio. "A year and a half isn't that much younger, and it was only a year difference in school," she said, obviously confused by the sudden turn in their conversation.

"I've been reminiscing too much tonight," Mio explained. "I keep remembering that cute underclassman, when you're already a successful business woman."

"Sometimes it's hard not see you as my cool upperclassman, either," Takei agreed (especially since she was still as head-over-heels for her as she was in high school).

Nodding in understanding, Mio linked and with one of Takei's and began to walk again. "We don't change as much as we'd like to."

"It's hard to change when you've gotten used to something," Takei, who was starting to feel a little warm, said. "Like…"

"Like?"

Takei took a few deep breaths, knowing that if she continued, she would change their relationship forever in one way or another, but feeling adventurous. "Like the fact that… I'm in love with you."

With her eyes clamped shut (partly out of fear, partly out of embarrassment), she was surprised when she felt Mio's hand slide down to take hers. Peeking an eye open, Mio was simply smiling at her.

"Guess this means I can tell the team the date went well."

* * *

Takei woke the next morning to the sound of her cellphone ringing and the voice of her cheerful boss and roommate. The person on the other line gleefully informed her that she was still expected to be at work at the normal time, no matter how the night before went. When she hung up, Takei glared at the small, flashing screen, tempted to text Federica and tell her nothing happened.

On the ground beside the small twin bed Takei was currently lying on, Mio was soundly sleeping on a futon. Takei slipped off the bed and ran a hand through her hair. Nothing may have happened last night, but walking into work in wrinkled clothes would still be a horrible idea.

"You can borrow something of mine," a half-asleep Mio mumbled. Takei, in response, just knelt down and pressed a kiss to Mio's forehead.

"I think I'll get a shower first," she said, walking over to Mio's closet and examining her clothing choices.

Mio sat up and blinked sleepily at Takei. "We on for lunch today?" she asked, stretching the night's sleep from her arms and back.

"Only if you have the time," Takei answered, grabbing whatever shirt looked like it would fit her best.

Standing up, Mio walked over her closet, took the blouse from Takei's hands, and chose a different one (explaining that the other was more "her color"). "I've got the time. And I think the team would appreciate an extra break, anyways."

Takei accepted the shirt and left for the bathroom, but not before squeezing Mio around the middle as she went. By the time she was done changing, Mio had cooked them a makeshift breakfast, and they parted at Mio's apartment door, exchanging a short kiss before they departed.

(During the day, when Takei pulled out her list to scratch off a few of the items, she noticed that they had already been crossed out. When she unexpectedly received a bouquet of flowers, she called the sender, and demanded an explanation; Mio just told her she could take another line off the list and that she should prepare to black out some more. At lunch, Mio revealed that she had gotten her own copy from her roommate, and that she had been using as a romantic guide; Takei, meanwhile, vowed to never trust Federica with another secret, but it only took a quick peck on the lips for Takei to forgive both parties. After all, the list worked better than she had expected.)

* * *

**A/N:** I do so love AU time.

To expand on Mio's career, which was unintentionally ambiguous, she's a soccer coach, and in my mind, the rest of the 501st are players (I'm sorely tempted to turn this into an actual soccer AU). The 504th all work for the Pantaloni Rossi fashion company.

As a friendly reminder, I am still taking requests. If you've already requested something, I will be getting around to it eventually.


	16. Smile Like You Mean It

The day Angela got back from the hospital, the 504th JFW threw a party. It was a big affair: all of the ground crew, every Romagnan witch that wasn't attached to a joint fight wing, and even the Noble Witches in Gallia were invited, and most of them cleared their schedule to attend.

Angela, meanwhile, was doing her best to avoid conversation by hiding in a corner. She hated pointlessly large gatherings.

"You could at least fake a smile, you know," a voice joked, sliding up to her. "It _is_ your party, after all."

It was Patti, the (indirect) reason for the get-together; it had started with her jokingly suggesting it, but Martina had latched onto the idea, and it spiraled out of control from there.

Angela didn't blame her, though. She wasn't sure that she _could_ blame her.

"I can't stand this kind of thing. You know that," she responded stiffly. She was still a little weak from her injuries, and there was a dull, thumping pain behind her right eye.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Patti asked, grabbing Angela's hand and leading her away from the excitement. With a quick yank, they were both outside on a balcony overlooking the Romangan landscape. The coolness and silence of the night instantly helped Angela's pounding head.

Patti inhaled deeply and stretched her arms out wide, leaning against the balcony railing as she finished. She turned to Angela, who was still standing at the doorway, and smiled.

"It's nice out," Angela muttered, not sure what to say. She stepped closer to the railing as Patti motioned for her.

"Nicer than inside?" Patti joked, bumping her shoulder against Angela's. "Sorry about the party thing. I didn't think the others would take it seriously."

Angela made a noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat, her voice constricted from the warmth of Patti's arm next to hers. "It's, uh, the thought that counts, right?" she asked.

"You don't have to try so hard, you know," Patti said laughing.

"I'm not! I'm just surprised that you'd go through all this trouble for me," Angela blurted out, glad that the darkness hid her red face.

Patti hummed a little happily before saying, "I want to see you smile, Angie." She reached out and poked Angela on the cheek. "Have you ever even worked these muscles?" she laughed.

The easy-going amusement slipped off her face when Angela grabbed her hand and leaned forward, and Angela was just about to speak when she lurched forward and pressed their lips together. In a second, Angela pulled away spluttering.

"Didn't work, huh? You didn't even crack a grin," Patti sighed, her one hand still trapped in Angela's grip.

"That's, uh, that's," Angela stuttered. With every word, her face grew warmer, but before she could actually form a sentence, someone from inside called for her.

"Go on; it's your party," Patti urged, nudging Angela towards the balcony doorway. "But don't you worry. I'll get you to smile for me one day."

Angela, unsure of what to say, hesitated before leaning in again and brushing her lips against Patti's a second time. Spinning on her heel, she marched back to the party, wondering if the slight upturn of her lips counted as a smile.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this is late. Sorry about that, folks.

My original plan was to post something I'd already written and buy myself some time for a request, but after rereading the story, I decided it wasn't satisfactory and it should be rewritten. Sorry again for taking so long putting this up, and hopefully I can get the next chapter in on time.

(I know Spain wasn't particularly involved in WWII, but we really need more Hispanian witches. As much as I love Angela, one witch is not enough.)


	17. Hard to Get

**For: **Anonymous

**Prompt:** Galland/Krupinksi, one night when Galland is inspecting the 502nd

* * *

The first thing Galland thought of the night she met Waltrud Krupinski was the note Squadron Leader Rall had sent her earlier that week. It was a simple note regarding the visit, but in retrospect, it seemed more like a warning.

_Please excuse Flying Officer Krupinski for her actions during your visit._

Galland was aware that Krupinski was considered a troublemaker and a skirt-chaser, so she waved it off as official politeness towards a superior officer. Rall was well-known for her sensibility, and she may have thought the warning was necessary.

Krupinski was just another brilliant witch with a long history of inappropriate behavior. Galland had met plenty of amazing soldiers who had, unfortunately, not-very-soldier-like quirks, so she considered herself in no position to judge anyone. It was a war, and humanity needed talented soldiers.

But there was something unsettling about the way Krupinski sweet talked her, or the way she always found an excuse to touch her or be alone with her or smile at her or…

Galland was aware that Krupiniski was considered a troublemaker and a skirt-chaser, but she never expected her to be so determined.

"Is there something wrong, ma'am?" Rall asked, looking up from a stack of papers.

Galland shook her head, painfully aware that she had just heaved a heavy sigh. "Nothing. I'm just surprised how much of your budget goes to striker repair," she half-lied. The amount of money going striker parts and tools was worrisome, but her mind was too focused on that tall womanizer.

"Krupinski isn't giving you a hard time, is she?"

"If her reputation's anything to go by, there's no need to ask," Galland responded dryly.

Rall smiled, pity and understanding clear in her expression. "I told her to control herself because of your position, but her definition of 'control' is quite different from mine."

"Her definition?"

"I would say she's stopping short of actual sexual harassment," Rall considered, eyes angled up, finger scratching her cheek. "If her target was anyone else, I would be proud of her."

Galland rubbed a hand over her face. "That's… settling. I take it this has happened before?"

"I've found the victims tend to start to enjoy themselves after a while, but you have no reason to worry. I've already told Flight Sergeant Rossman to make sure she doesn't go too far," Rall informed her matter-of-factly.

Sighing again, Galland glanced at the document in her hands. "It's getting late. I'll work over next year's budget in my room."

Rall nodded and thanked her for her time, before getting up and opening the door for her. "Have a good night, ma'am."

The second the door closed behind her, Galland turned to see a confidant smirk plastered on an admittedly-attractive face. Krupinski was leaning against the wall, clearly enjoying Galland's attention.

"Would you like me to escort you to your room, ma'am? I'd be devastated if you got lost in this huge base."

Examining her face, Galland remained impassive. "Do whatever you will, flying officer," she said, making her way down the well-lit corridor. "I'm sure I'd be unable to stop you regardless."

Krupinski didn't blush or chuckle nervously or look ashamed at all. Rather, her smile widened as she promptly took off after her superior.

They walked in near silence, Krupinski occasionally dropping a charming line as Galland did her best to shrug her off. When they arrived at Galland's room, Krupinski politely opened the door, but when Galland made to dismiss her, she effortlessly bent down and claimed Galland's lips.

The kiss lasted barely a second when Galland pulled away, too shocked to be angry. Krupinski just stood innocently in the doorway.

"Flying Officer, what do you think you're doing?" Galland asked, one hand over her mouth.

"It must be hard to be in your position," Krupinski mused, ignoring Galland's question. "Going from base to base, dealing with those stiff old generals… Sometimes you need to relax."

"And you're offering to help?"

Cracking a grin, Krupinski looked completely shameless. "I'm always offering. No one has to know."

Galland sighed and sat down on her bed, dropping her papers on the small bedside table. "I wonder how many women you've used that line on…" she said plainly, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs. Krupinski instantly assumed a sheepish expression.

"Well?" Galland asked. "What are you waiting for?"

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Galland was zipping up her leather jacket and running a hand through her hair. Glancing to her side, she saw that Krupinski was still reclining on the bed, looking fully satisfied with herself.

"Was it everything you were expecting?" she asked cockily.

"I've had worse," Galland quickly retorted, looking over her shoulder and smirking, oh-so-slightly, at Krupinski. "If it was horrible, I would have had you court martialed."

"Always playing hard to get, I see," Krupinski joked. "Toss me my shirt, will you?" she asked, knowing that staying the night was the easiest way for them to be found out.

Galland threw the article of clothing at Krupinski's face before grabbing the papers from her bedside table. "I hear she's been told to keep an eye on you."

Krupinski laughed as she fixed her field service hat on her head. "She's always trying to keep me in line. Trying, mind you." Tipping her hat a little, she smirked and opened the door. "Sweet dreams, ma'am."

Eyes fixed on the now closed door, Galland ran another hand through her surely messed up hair. She glanced at her bed, sheets in complete disarray, and dropped her body on it. Krupinski had offered her relaxation, but she felt even more on edge now.

Maybe she should visit the 502nd more often.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, hey, look; I'm still alive! Real life has been a pain this past month, but I should be able to get back on track with the requests now, hopefully.

No matter how hard I try, I can't imagine Krupinski in an actual, committed relationship, at least as long as the war's going on. She's the charming one-night-stand queen, but a loving girlfriend? I just can't see it. Maybe Rossman can sort her out after the Neuroi stop wrecking the planet.

For some reason, Krupinski was really easy for me to write, but Galland was pretty difficult. I wish she had more canon appearances I could use to get a better grasp on her personality, but everyone's got to deal with what we've already got, I suppose. I hope you lot enjoyed this chapter, particularly the anon who requested it.


	18. When

**For:** HayatexBlade

**Prompt:** Eilanya, Nipa visits and Sanya gets jealous at how close she an Eila are.

* * *

When Eila goes to sleep that night she wonders if Sanya will slip in like usual. She worries that she won't.

Their fight was bad, far worse than any others they've had in the past, and Eila already regrets everything she said. She wishes she could apologize, but Sanya's already thousands of kilometers in the sky, and she won't be coming down for a few hours yet.

Eila rolls over in her bed and stares at Nipa's sleeping back in the cot on the other side of the room. She wonders if she'll get any sleep tonight.

* * *

When Nipa came to visit that weekend, both Eila and Sanya were excited, though the degrees and visibility were quite different. Sanya's glee was hardly contained, but Eila simply shrugged and joked that she had better get some salmiakki.

Their reunion was filled with hugs (on Sanya's part) and teasing comments (from Eila), but when Nipa pulled Eila into a quick embrace, Sanya's expression instantly contorted into one of displeasure. It returned to normal before anyone could do a double-take.

On that first night, Eila and Nipa sat next to each other at dinner, chatting happily in Suomish. Sanya watched from her seat on the table's other side, the pout on her face growing larger with each second. The meal was only half way over (Lynne and Yoshika had just sat down) when she stood suddenly, claiming that she needed a nap before she went on patrol.

The others let her go, varying degrees of confusion on their faces.

* * *

When Eila rolls over again, she lets out a deep sigh. It's still pitch black in the room, so she knows Sanya should still be on-duty, but her bed feels empty.

She twists and turns again a few more times, and when she finally settles down, she notices Nipa staring at her from across the room, her eyes almost glowing in the darkness.

"I'm sorry," she says, and Eila winces at how loud her voice sounds.

"It's…" Eila begins, wanting to finish with "not your fault" but painfully aware that she does somewhat blame her. Nipa's eyes bob in what Eila assumes is a nod, and Eila knows that she understands.

"She means a lot to you," Nipa plainly states. Her eyes look neither sad nor teasing.

Eila nods in the blackness, but, realizing the lighting, lamely responds, "Yeah."

"Good luck."

Eila isn't sure if Nipa is talking about making up after the fight or the future Eila hopes they still have.

* * *

When Sanya first raised her voice, a nagging alarm went off in the back of Eila's mind, warning her to stay calm, to not respond. Her mouth and her brain weren't known for their close relationship.

Her own voice rose to the challenge and before long, she and Sanya were screaming at each other in their room, just like they had a few weeks ago. By the time Nipa walked in, Sanya was rushing out, tears tracing paths on her cheeks.

Eila felt like she had just punched herself in the stomach.

_You're always playing around!_

_Our relationship is none of your business! _

_We're all witches, aren't we?_

_Someone from Orussia wouldn't understand!_

Words bounced around the inside of her skull like a heavy clapper on the dull sound ring of a bell. Indignation drained out of her as regret washed in, and she dropped to her bed, groaning.

Nipa stared at her in sympathy. "Shouldn't you go after her?"

"She's on-duty," Eila answered curtly. "And I don't think she wants to see me right now anyway," she muttered.

"Maybe it'll be better tomorrow?" Nipa said uneasily. She obviously worried that she was at fault.

"Maybe," Eila agreed, rolling over, but in her mind, she was banging her head against the nearest wall.

* * *

When Eila wakes suddenly in the middle of the night, she's surprised that she managed to get to sleep. She's also shocked to find another body on her bed, curled up on the very edge as if it's not sure if it's welcome there.

Eila smiles and throws her blanket over the extra body, before pulling it closer to the center of the bed.

"Did I wake you?" Sanya asks, groggily blinking at Eila.

Shaking her head in response, Eila makes sure the blanket is properly covering both of them. "I'm sorry," she blurts out.

Sanya takes her turn shaking her head. "I'm sorry I got jealous."

In just a few moments of their looking at each other, they both start laughing, forgetting the caustic words they threw at each other hours before. They know their chuckles will wake the whole base if they keep going, but right now, they're just too happy to care.

When they see Nipa off tomorrow morning, there won't be any hard feelings or bitter emotions. They'll say goodbye like old friends (Sanya will discreetly apologize), and they'll eagerly await their next meeting.

And when Eila goes to sleep that night, she won't worry that Sanya won't slip into her bed.

* * *

**A/N:** Warning: tense changes like woah. Also, holy crap, that's a lot of proper nouns.

It's really about time I got this one done; I've had it for at least a couple of months. Eilanya is usually so easy to write, too.


	19. Servitude

**For:** Victor Petrenko

**Prompt:** Takei/Yoshika

* * *

Smile, bow, and… "Come back soon, master!"

With the last customer herded out the door, everyone slumped over, tired and annoyed. Tomoko ripped the headband from where it sat on her crown and huffed angrily.

"Did you see how that one was leering at me?" she grumbled. Takeko patted her on the back and smiled sympathetically.

"Cheer up, girls!" Mio was met with angry glares and incredulous stares. "Yes, being a maid is hard, it's Golden Week, and high school boys don't know self-control, but they always spend the most."

Tomoko huffed. "And they don't understand they're not supposed to touch. I swear if I feel another hand on my rear, I'll…"

"Smile politely and deal with it," Takeko finished. "Our reputation's more important than your pride, Tomoko."

Laughing a little, Keiko slung her arms around both Tomoko and Takeko's shoulders. "It's okay. Just tell me who did it, and I'll 'trip' and pour hot coffee on their laps."

Yoshika chuckled at their interaction, feeling unable to enter it herself. She was just a part-timer, a high schooler, who had to work longer hours because of the Golden Week rush.

She didn't hate her job like Tomoko – she hasn't been working long enough to develop such strong feelings – but it was hardly something she would want to spend her life doing. For Mio to willingly run, and occasionally fill in when they needed extra help, a maid café with such vigor was a complete enigma.

Grabbing the bag of garbage beside the back door before she left, Yoshika inhaled the night air deeply. Tomorrow she worked from eight to two, and then she could enjoy her vaca-

"Ahh!" Yoshika didn't think; she just screamed.

"C-calm down!" a shady figure called back.

Yoshika was about to reach for a rusty pipe lying on the ground to defend herself, but Mio burst from the back door brandishing a bokken intimidatingly. The stranger held out his (her?) hands in a defensive manner and stepped into the light from the restaurant.

"Junko? Why are you skulking around the back alleys?"

The person, whoever she was, was prettier than most women Yoshika's ever seen. She wondered if this Junko had worked for Mio's café before.

"I tried the front door, but it was locked," the woman explained. "I noticed a light was still on, so I decided to try the back." She paused. "I didn't expect to be threatened with a weapon, Mio, or see such a cute girl," she laughed, winking at Yoshika.

Mio let out a hearty laugh and rested her wooden sword on her shoulder. "Drop by during business hours if you want to admire the workers, but if you want some tea, come on in."

"Tea? I'll have to accept then," the stranger joked. She turned and glanced at Yoshika. "Maybe I will have to drop by when you're open."

Yoshika flushed as Mio chuckled again. "You can go ahead and leave, Miyafuji. I'll finish cleaning up. Besides," Mio said, voice thick with laughter, "I don't want anyone ogling the merchandise without paying."

* * *

When Yoshika arrived at work the next morning, she was surprised to see the woman from the night before sitting in her section, sipping from a teacup. The woman (Junko was it?) looked even more beautiful in full light, and she had a certain elegance that Yoshika couldn't seem to place.

She smiled at Yoshika when she spotted her, the way her lips upturned a little too knowing for Yoshika's comfort.

Making her way to the back where her locker stored her maid uniform, Yoshika did her best to rid that woman's pretty smile from her memory. She would be serving high school boys and unemployed men today; if she acted too enamored, they might think they're allowed to touch her.

Yoshika changed quickly and gave her reflection a short once-over, fixing her headband and apron. She still had a few minutes before the store opened, but the others were already dressed and waiting to start work.

Walking back into the dining area, she noticed that woman still sitting in her section as serenely as she had before Yoshika left to change. Yoshika wondered if she knew that the doors were opening soon and that there was already a line right outside. Maybe she should tell her…

"Miyafuji!" Mio barked suddenly, waving Yoshika to the bar counter. "Junko's an old friend, so it's important that she enjoy her time here." She paused and let her words sink in. "I was going to let someone more experienced like Keiko or Tomoko take care of her, but she insisted that it be you."

Yoshika just stared blankly back, before nodding in understanding. She didn't know who this "Junko" person was or why she was so important, but she knew not to disobey her boss.

* * *

"So, how did you get started as a maid anyway?"

Yoshika looked up from the table she was cleaning and stared at the woman sitting across from her.

"Sakamoto-san recruited me. I'll need the money for college anyway, so I took the job," she explained, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden.

"You're still in high school?" The woman sounded surprised. "I suppose I can't say anything though. Mio and I started working here when we were in high school too."

Almost dropping the saucer in her hands, Yoshika stared at the other woman. "You used to be a maid?"

"It pays well," the woman explained. "Jobs like this aren't very popular, and the demand is surprisingly high. Mio was smart to take over. She even got our old co-workers to help out!"

Yoshika glanced around the café at the other maids. They worked with the sort of ease developed by experience, something Yoshika had assumed was simply because they were older than her.

"If you don't mind me asking," she asked, nearly forgetting herself and quickly adding "ma'am" to her sentence, "why did you stop working here, if everyone else still does?"

Taking another sip of her tea, the woman considered the question. "I want to say it's because my current job is too demanding to work as a maid on the side, but it's really because I hated working here. Servitude never sat well with me, I guess."

"And your current job?" Yoshika asked, tentatively, as if she were afraid of pushing too much.

"I'm a talent scout. I like to go to maid cafés, like this one, and find young girls who want out," the woman explained, fishing a business card from her bag. The gleaming golden characters read _Takei Junko_. "Have you heard of Suwa Amaki or Nakajima Nishiki?"

Yoshika nodded vigorously, remembering when she heard about their debut and how amazed she was when she discovered they were only a couple of years older than she was.

Takei smiled gently at her. "I guess that means you know what comes next." She stood, leaving her tea half-finished. "Keep the card and let Mio know she's doing a good job. I'll drop by in a few days to hear your decision."

* * *

Yoshika spent the next week in utter dilemma. She kept the small business card Takei gave her in her pocket at all times, and she often took it out just to look at it or feel the now wrinkled paper.

The concept of stardom, of fame, was too surreal. It was too fast.

But… there was something about Takei that Yoshika didn't want to refuse. It was a feeling she couldn't explain.

Flipping the card in her hands again, she rubbed the bright (but quickly fading) lettering on the card. If she said yes…

Yoshika never imagined such a glamorous life before, unlike most girls her age; she was satisfied with going to college and becoming a physician like her mother and grandmother and ultimately taking over the family practice. After all, she can't sing or dance, and she never considered herself particularly pretty, but she liked helping people. Becoming a doctor was perfect for her.

But (she hesitated and turned the card over again) whenever she imagined Takei's disappointed face or Takei leaving the restaurant and never coming back, Yoshika felt compelled to learn to dance or sing or model or be pretty…

She didn't tell her parents or Mio about the offer. It was still up in the air, and she knew this was a decision she needed to make herself. Besides, how could she tell her family that the main reason she was considering it was because she was oddly attracted to the person who asked her.

Sighing, she ran her thumb over the card's smooth lettering.

Outside Yoshika's window, her mother was chatting happily with a neighbor. The calendar on her wall had one date circled in bright red with "Micchan's birthday!" written inside. A cup of now cold tea sat on her desk, brought in by her grandmother half an hour ago. The unreadable script her father wrote in, detailing the end of his business trip, was visible from where she sat.

A picture, propped against her other picture frames, displayed Yoshika smiling and surrounded by her coworkers.

Dropping the small, wrinkled paper on her desk, Yoshika stood, determined. Her shift started in almost an hour.

* * *

Yoshika was completely unsurprised when Takei walked in that day. Beaming, Yoshika greeted her like she would any other customer and sat her down at the first available table in her section. Takei ordered her usual tea and handed over the menu, looking expectant.

There was really only one response Yoshika could give, the longer she thought about it. In a choice between her current life or a glamorous one beside Takei, the answer was obvious. At least, it was to her.

Placing the full teacup and saucer in front of Takei, Yoshika clutched her serving tray to her chest. Takei had a soft, elegant smile on her face, and Yoshika could feel her face heat up a little.

"Takei-san," she started, fidgeting. "I suppose you're waiting for my answer."

With an encouraging nod, Takei's smile grew slightly. "Quite eagerly."

Yoshika heaved a sigh to calm herself. Her heart was nearly thumping out of her chest.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, suddenly as though she wouldn't be able to get out the words if she didn't say it quickly. "I can't accept your offer, but I'm very thankful you considered me."

Takei, her smile cracking into a grin, let out a sigh of her own. "I knew you were going to say that," she laughed, "although I was hoping you wouldn't."

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Yoshika felt like a young child unsure if she was about to be punished. Takei just waved her off and took a long sip from her tea.

"I'm not mad, Miyafuji-san. A little disappointed, maybe, but not mad. It's such a waste to let a cute girl like you get away."

Yoshika flushed appropriately. "I-I'm not that cute," she muttered, embarrassed.

"I think you're adorable," Takei responded unabashedly. "And I think it's a pity I won't be able to see you every day."

Unable to form proper words, Yoshika stood completely still in a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Takei, clearly amused, finished her tea and placed just the right amount of money on the table. She rose from the table, her serene smile in place.

"But, that doesn't mean I can't stop by every now and again does it?" she asked. Yoshika, still too uneasy to talk, nodded numbly. Inside, she was soaring.

Takei made her way to the exit, but stopped right before the door and held out a business card, very much like the one she gave Yoshika before but still crisp and wrinkle-free.

"And just because we won't be working together doesn't mean you can't still call." Another number was scrawled on the back. Utter elation welled in Yoshika's chest as she took the card. A pleased expression on her face, Takei turned to leave.

Grinning widely, Yoshika bowed lowly and recited her exit line with complete conviction.

"Come back soon, master!"

* * *

**A/N: **Let's ignore everyone's ages for the sake of keeping the story hole free.

Well, this was a late update, and I have no excuse other than "the end of the school year's a pain." No worries, though; if you have a request pending, I have every intention of getting to it. It just might take longer than I'd like.

This chapter is the perfect way of showing I know far too much about maid cafés and Japanese pop culture. I'm not entirely sure what brought the idea on, but it's one of those things you just roll with in hopes that it goes well. That said, I hope you readers enjoyed this chapter enough to make up for the wait.


	20. The Hunt

**For:** Crouching Dragon Hidden Shizuru

**Prompt:** Minna and Trude

* * *

She had to do something, anything. Those _bastards_ needed to be taught a lesson.

Oh-so-familiar power surged through her, but the second it left her body, she regretted it.

She was going to have to run.

* * *

The road was bumpy, and the cart magnified every jostle and dip the road made. Trude tossed as she searched for a comfortable position. Propped against the other side, Minna and Erica slept peacefully.

With a sudden bump, Trude found herself inches in the air before landing roughly. The driver laughed with glee, mentioning something about "good air time." Trude glared at the back of the driver's head, mentally wishing to shoot some magic at her but acknowledging that she wouldn't get far acting like that.

She needed to get to the hospital before they did anything to Chris.

"Can you make this thing move any faster?" Trude demanded, anxiety flowing freely through her veins.

The driver shot Trude a look over her shoulder and smirked, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "I thought you'd never ask," she responded, eagerly.

Trude didn't have the time to be wary before she was pinned to the back wall of the cart, positive they must be _flying_ for the pressure to be so intense. Every random box and bundle sitting the wagon with her was either crushed or stuck to the back with her, and Trude couldn't help but thank any god that existed that her magic made her body durable enough to handle the strain.

* * *

They arrived at their destination before the bumpy ride awoke Erica or Minna. Trude shakily handed a small handful of coins to the driver, who only took half the money. The driver jangled the coins in thanks and knowingly told her that she would probably need the money more. Trude was ready to protest, but she was silenced by the driver's sudden and fast departure.

Trude looked to her two friends, worried by both the driver's actions and the state of her sister. The hospital in front of them was nothing more than a house with an extra room attached to one side to accommodate patients. Like every other serf's house, it was wooden and dirty.

There was a very good chance Trude wouldn't even be allowed to see Chris, if the doctor had heard about her already. She knew she needed to avoid conflict and force, but she was fully prepared to do anything it took to get her sister back.

Feeling a warm hand drop on her shoulder, Trude jumped in shock, but Minna's calming voice flowed through her ears.

"Don't be rash. We'll get her back."

Trude inhaled and breathed out deeply. Minna was right; she couldn't just go in looking for a fight. She had to be calm.

Taking extra care with her steps, Trude marched to the hospital door and opened it slowly. There was no one in the front room, let alone anyone that might try to stop Trude from getting what she came for.

"It's awfully quite in here," Erica commented, yawning a little as she said it. Trude could practically feel Minna nod from beside her as her blood ran cold.

No longer caring about control, Trude burst through the door leading to the patient's ward. Searching wildly with her eyes, she scanned the room, only to feel painful disappointment stab through her chest.

There wasn't a soul around.

Tears welled in Trude's eyes, even as she fought to stop them, and she felt Minna's comforting hand on her shoulder again.

"Don't worry. We'll get her back,"

* * *

After a small amount of forceful interrogation from a shady bystander, they learned that the patients in the hospital were transported to Saarbrüken, a village on the border of Karlsland and Gallia. Trude wrung her hands in worry; the trip to the border would take at least two days by horse-drawn cart and a week if they had to walk.

The tavern they were waiting in was dark and dirty, and nearly every man had their eyes on Minna's nice shaped butt as she flirted with the barkeep in an attempt to get them a ride to the next town. Erica sat beside Trude, seemingly carefree as she sipped at the ale she had ordered with their meal.

Minna gave her behind a little shake as the men in the tavern leaned closer to look and Trude came a little closer to starting a fight. Annoyance turning her vision red, Trude almost stood to teach the leering men a lesson, but she was roughly pulled back into her seat.

"Starting a fight won't get us any closer to Chris," Erica explained. Trude glared at her but didn't move. Erica sighed and tried again. "You can't save Chris if you're burned at the stake."

Suddenly Trude felt the life drain out of her, and it was only then that she realized her magic was coming out without her knowledge. Angry at herself for losing so much control but sobered by understanding, she sat still, eyes turned downward.

Minutes later, Erica shook Trude's arm and pointed to a victorious-looking Minna walking quickly towards them, staring directly at Trude. There was something in the way that she ignored everyone else in the tavern that made Trude's heart jump.

* * *

Their new cart driver, who was confident she was the fastest driver around, was really no better than their last (Trude was sorely tempted to chide her every opportunity that presented itself), and her attitude was considerably worse. Minna, of course, thanked her graciously for the help; Erica, on the other hand, seemed entirely unimpressed, which drove the driver mad.

The cart was considerably fancier than the last, and it had the name of some Gallian delivery company painted on the side. The inside was cramped and filled with boxes.

Trude settled in amongst the crates and sighed, stressed and tired. Leaning her head against the nearest box and praying that she could get some sleep, she closed her eyes.

What felt like ten minutes later was really closer to three hours, and when Trude awoke, she found herself staring at a starry sky. The air around her face was cool, but she felt warmth on her left shoulder, and, turning to find the source, she noticed Minna curled up beside her, sleeping comfortably.

In the front of the cart, Erica was arguing with the driver, but the sound was little more than a whisper to Trude and her sleeping companion. Removing her cloak in the least disruptive way she could, Trude wrapped it around the two of them, and sank into the shared warmth.

* * *

Saarbrüken was bustling with life when they arrived, the populace speaking in a jumbled mix of both Karslandian and Gallian. Market stalls lined the main street, which was packed full of people from all over the area.

The cart moved slowly through the crowd as people passed back and forth in front of the horses. The driver stopped roughly halfway down the street at a stall with crates all marked with the same signature as the ones in the cart, and, hopping down from the front seat, gave Minna vague directions to the hospital. When Trude held out a hand of coins to her in payment, the driver stiffly refused on the grounds that they, Erica especially, would visit her company in Gallia sometime.

After thanking the driver graciously (Trude and Erica grudgingly so), Minna led them to the hospital. The winding streets were considerably calmer than they were in the town center, but it was still far more active than the ones Trude was used to, and the mere presence of people gave her hope. The hospital itself was a large and ominous, a tell-tale sign of the size of the town and surrounding area.

Trude approached the door, ready to kick it down if need be, but paused as worry pulsed through her. What if it was just like before, when Chris wasn't there? What if she was, but Trude couldn't get to her?

Minna's voice drifted through her ears. "_Breathe_, Trude."

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Trude nodded for Erica to open the door.

There were only a few people waiting inside, all of whom looked pitiful and sick. The trio walked through, doing their best not to stare at the pathetic states the mother and her son, or the elderly man, or the haggard beggar were in.

They approached a weary nurse, and Minna politely asked if a "Christiane Barkhorn" was admitted as a patient. The old woman simply pointed to one of the doors behind her and went back to attending to the ill in the room. Thanking the woman even as she walked away, Trude pushed forward hope and nervousness protecting her from the dismal atmosphere of the main room.

Inside the ward, a sole doctor watched the patients, but Trude paid him little mind as she scanned the room for her sister. It wasn't until he spoke that she regarded his presence.

"You can't be in here! These patients are scheduled to be moved in an hour."

Trude turned on him, quickly losing control of her magic, and it wasn't until she felt a hand on each shoulder that she stopped. Both Erica and Minna stood on either side of her, determined but calm.

Minna spoke first, "One of these patients is family. We're simply here to collect her," to which Erica added, "We don't plan on leaving without her."

The doctor appeared unimpressed. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. These patients are in need of better care than we can provide here. They are to be transported to Berlin, and there is nothing you can do about that."

With a reassuring pat on both shoulders, Trude strode forward and grabbed the doctor's collar and, with a little magical push, lifted him straight off the ground.

"We're taking Chris," she spat angrily. "You're more than welcome to try and stop us."

Dropping the frightened man on the ground, Trude spun on her heel and joined a grinning Erica and a slightly disapproving Minna, who held Chris bridal style.

"You didn't have to be so rough," Minna scolded, handing the unconscious girl to her sister.

Trude smiled and cradled Chris close. "Thanks, both of you. I couldn't have gotten Chris back without your help."

Erica, grinning mischievously, punched Trude lightly on the arm and skipped off ahead. "What are friends for?" she laughed.

"What is family for?" Minna corrected, patting Trude's back reassuringly and planting a soft kiss on her temple. "I'm glad we could get her back."

Blushing furiously, Trude nodded in agreement. "But I'd like to think you're a little more than family," she added, keeping in step with Minna as they chased after Erica.

Minna just smiled and intertwined their arms. "After all we've been through," she said, conspiratorially, "I would hope so."

* * *

**A/N:** Look who's still alive and writing! One of these days I'll try to get back to a consistent update schedule, but until then, sorry to make you guys wait.

Most of the AUs I do end up being modern day, so I decided to mix it up a little a make it a Medieval AU. Since I'm terrible at backstory: Chris was attacked by brigands, and Trude used magic to get revenge, but, as magic isn't exactly well-liked historically, Trude, Minna, and Erica have to lay low and sneak around to get Chris back. The identity of the cart drivers, while not named, should be pretty obvious.

I hope that the sort-of-romantic undertones aren't too shoehorned in.

If you see any mistakes/typos/egregious errors, please point them out to me, as it's really late (or early, depending on how you look at it) where I am at the moment, and I'm a bit too tired to catch everything. Also, those of you with requests made so long ago you've forgotten you made them, never fear; I will get to those, even if it takes some more time.

(And in a fit of shameless promotion, you should check out OZ7UP's _It's Friday Night, Little Darling_ for more request-happy, AU fun. It's quite similar to this, but just expect more sex.)


	21. All Part of the Job

**For:** Anonymous

**Prompt:** Federica/Junko, modern-day AU

* * *

Blood ran cold on the floor. Takei could practically see the temperature drain from the red liquid as it slipped from the body, warmth lost on the concrete. Distantly, she could hear her phone ring, feel it vibrate in her pocket, and she reached for it numbly.

"Takei here."

"You know the party's in an hour right? The mistress is expecting you, so you better get cleaned up and ready."

Takei sighed, staring at the red stain on the floor. "I'll be ready in time," she responded. "Just send someone over here to clean up."

If the person on the other side said anything else, it fell on deaf ears. Takei hung up, straightened her tie, and turned to leave.

* * *

Parties were always stressful occasions for Takei. She was never sure who she could trust, and Federica was never close enough to keep a good eye on.

It only figured that Takei, the most serious of the Libau Trio, would end up working as a bodyguard for Romagna's most laid-back mafia princess.

Hands instantly finding her tie and fixing it, a nervous habit she developed around the time she had to wear ties on a regular basis, Takei searched the room for anything suspicious. Her suit felt stiffer than usual, something she attributed to the setting.

"Takei!" a sudden shout came from behind her, making her jump. "Are you enjoying the party?"

Turning to meet her employer, Takei gave a strained smile, her face fully revealing what she felt about the party.

Federica laughed. "Can't even lighten up for my birthday? I swear the only time I've seen you relaxed is with a teacup in your hands."

Hearing her mistress laugh so cheerfully, Takei found herself smiling genuinely.

"I'll try, but it wouldn't hurt for you to be more careful, you know."

With another chuckle and a nod, Federica wrapped an arm around Takei. "How does an even trade sound? I'll try to be more careful, and you'll try to have some fun."

Takei couldn't do anything but share Federica's mood, and, sighing heavily as was expected of her, she agreed. "Alright, ma'am."

* * *

All it took was a loud crash and a shout of pain, and Takei was nearly breaking the door down, gun ready, safety off.

Federica looked at her innocently from where she sat on the floor beside her bed, the way the sheets and blankets were her both trapped under her and trapping her more than enough indication that she'd slipped.

Takei sighed heavily, the sudden departure of adrenaline making her exhausted. "Bad dream, ma'am?"

"I can't remember?" Federica responded, confused. She chuckled lightly at the situation and rubbed the back of her head. "Must have been something, though, to knock me from a bed that big."

Shaking her head, Takei walked over to her and offered her a hand. "Only you," she muttered under her breath.

If Federica heard her, she gave no indication and graciously accepted the help. Now standing, she flashed Takei an apologetic smile. "Sorry to disrupt you sleep. I know you need it."

"Why do you think I drink chamomile?" Takei joked, watching as Federica settled herself in her bed before taking a seat on the edge. "Of course I wouldn't mind if you started taking midafternoon naps…"

Federica swatted her playfully on the arm. "You would be wide awake with worry that someone would slip through the window and slit my throat."

Takei nodded in agreement, sagely, with her eyes closed. "Ah, but if I slept in here, any potential assassin would be too scared to even try to kill you. And I would get twice the back support in this giant," she patted the bed affectionately like one would a pet, "than I do in that cot I normally sleep in."

"A genius plan, Takei," Federica agreed. "So why don't you start now?"

Blinking a little in surprise, Takei looked at Federica confused. "M-ma'am?"

"Oh c'mon!" Federica laughed, pulled Takei onto the bed beside her. "Now if I roll off the bed, I'll have something soft to land on."

Takei just smiled and let Federica wrap and arm around her.

* * *

It was always late when Takei came back from assignments, though that was the least of her reasons for hating her job.

She snuck in Federica and her join bedroom and inched toward the bathroom, trying her best not to wake her mistress. The second she got inside, she made her way to the sink without bothering to turn the light on. She could _feel_ the blood on her hands, even though they were completely spotless.

"Bad night?" a tired voice rang from the bathroom doorway. Takei didn't need to look to know who it was.

"You could say that," she muttered, splashing water on her face with little regard to the prim suit she wore.

Federica hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not," Takei sighed. "It's just a part of the job. The worst part, sure, but it's still a part."

"How does…" Federica started, her voice thick with worry, "how does it feel?"

Takei shook her head and sent drops of water across the sink. "Terrible. I used to throw up after every time, and sometimes I just couldn't do it. Wakamoto hated working with me because of that." Federica was completely quiet. "But I had good colleagues, so I eventually got used to it." Takei chuckled grimly and looked at her hands; she could wear she saw red.

The silence that followed was stifling. Federica looked like she was at a loss for words, and Takei kept her eyes on her hands, appearing as though throwing up was exactly what she needed.

"Not that used to it," Federica finally spoke, surprising both of them. "You should come bed."

Shaking her head again, Takei tried to decline. "Believe it or not, I'm not that tired."

"You don't have to sleep, just come to bed. I promise it'll make you feel better," Federica told her, offering Takei a small smile that Takei instantly knew she couldn't refuse.

Federica reached out her hand and, after Takei placed hers in the offered grip, led her out of the bathroom and onto Federica's king-sized bed. Without even bothering to get under the covers, Federica pulled Takei closer.

"Your hands don't look dirty to me," she murmured, playing with both of them before taking each to her lips and pressing light kisses to the fingers.

Takei's breath caught in her throat. "Y-you shouldn't do that. It's—"

Federica dropped Takei's hands, instead wrapping her arms around the other's waist. "It's comforting. Don't you feel better already?"

Nodding numbly, Takei hesitantly mimicked Federica's motion. She opened her mouth to speak, but she was already slipping into Federica's embrace and falling asleep.

* * *

Sitting in on family meetings was probably Takei's second least favorite part of her job.

Mr. Doglio was a stuffy old man who disapproved of nearly everything his daughter did with her time, and his wife did nothing more than sit and nod approvingly at everything he said. Federica took the criticisms stone-faced, but Takei could tell she was angry.

"The chauffer told me you were spotted in the garage again. What kind of woman spends more time under the hood of a car than considering her future? You should be meeting with suitors and learning about the family business. You are not a mechanic, Federica, you are the heir to the Doglio family syndicate."

Federica sat stock still, her breathing controlled but fire burning in her eyes. "I may enjoy spending time with cars, father," she started calmly, "but that doesn't mean I've been ignoring my duties. Yesterday I had lunch with your associates' daughters; the day before, I met with Maloney, who you praised so much for the way he runs the Britannian branch. Takei can confirm everything!"

Her father, though, was less than satisfied. Turning on Takei like a predator that just discovered new prey, he pointed an accusing finger. "Trust her? The bodyguard that recently moved into your bed? The worthless hitman who won't even clean up after herself? She's nothing more than a waste of money with a reputation!"

Takei didn't even blink at the accusations; she could tell that Mr. Doglio (she would never refer to him as "Don," not after the run-in she had with that Liberian couple) was just trying to get a rise out of any of them. Federica, however, took the bait and leapt out of her chair in anger.

"If she's such a terrible waste of money, you shouldn't have hired her!" she yelled, finally letting her irritation show.

"I wouldn't have, if I had known you were so interested in _Fusoan food_," her father spat back.

At that, Federica spun on her heel and yanked the door open, before grabbing Takei by the wrist and dragging her out of the room. She closed the door with a decisive slam.

"Why would you let him say those things about you? Aren't you even a little mad?" Federica questioned, still seething.

Takei smiled lightly, even though Federica had her back turned and couldn't see it. "I'm under contract, and if he really wanted to fire me, he would have." She slid her arm up so that she could hold Federica's hand properly. "I'm flattered that you stood up for me."

Federica, who quickly welcomed the intimacy of hand-holding, deflated almost immediately. "I'm used to him talking to me that way, but you're not even part of the family. I didn't want him chasing you away."

"I'm not going anywhere," Takei reassured. "Now, weren't you going to tell me about that pin-up calendar idea you had?"

* * *

Takei wasn't sure whose idea it was, only that it sure as hell wasn't hers.

Security personnel, that she'd personally trained, stalked the grounds. She and Federica, who she was sure was one night out from being disowned, were crouched behind a bush, waiting for the right time to make a break for it.

"You know," Federica whispered harshly from beside her, "if you'd let me sneak out more, I'd be better at this."

Although she knew it wouldn't be seen, Takei rolled her eyes. "If I let you sneak out _at all_ I'd be fired," she shot back, just as softly.

"Where's your sense of adventure? You're supposed to be the dashing mercenary that rescues the rebellious princess!" Federica enthused as loudly as was possible from where they were hiding.

"My sense of adventure died when I was hired by your family and had to start acting responsible," Takei deadpanned, ignoring Federica's next comment about "being no fun." She sighed. "Besides aren't princesses supposed to be saved by princes?"

Federica didn't miss a beat. "Who would want a prince when they have a dashing mercenary? I know I wouldn't."

Heat instantly flooded to Takei's face, and she was immediately glad that it was too dark to notice it.

"If you've got your dashing mercenary, why do you even want to go out?" she muttered, tempted to hide her face despite the darkness.

"Do you think you could amuse me all night?" Federica asked in response. Takei could practically see the smirk on her face.

That didn't stop her from flushing even more at the answer on her lips, though. "I can think of a few things that might," she trailed off.

"Now I'm all curious," Federica joked as she grabbed Takei by the hand and yanked her away from their hiding spot. Takei obediently followed, nervousness settling in the pit of her stomach.

"I hope you're not expecting _too_ much."

* * *

"Takei, when does your contract end?" Federica asked, eyeing the sound proof screen that separated the front and the back of the car.

They were sitting in the backseat of Federica's personal car, on their way to events neither of them particularly wanted to go to. Though they sat with plenty of space between them, their hands were clasped and hidden from the chauffer.

Takei kept her gaze trained on the passing scenery, even as she answered. "In a few months. Why?"

"Do you plan on getting it renewed?"

"I'll try, but it's your father's decision, and I don't think he likes me very much," Takei explained, resisting the urge to look at Federica.

"I might be able to convince him," Federica said just as lightly, though she stared at the soundproof barrier warily.

Takei squeezed her hand a little in support. "I don't think he'll listen to you if he finds out about us."

"Then, we'll just have to be sure he doesn't find out. Though I suppose it's fine if he does."

"Why?" Takei spluttered in confusion, head whipping around.

"Because," Federica started, pressing a button that raised a black privacy screen, "then I would be able to do this," she grabbed Takei's tie and pulled her closer, "without worrying about getting caught."

Takei grinned. "I'd get fired, you know." Her eyes drifted down to Federica's lips and back up to meet her gaze.

Federica just returned the smile. "It'd be worth it," she said, before giving Takei's tie a final yank and crushing their lips together.

Half an hour later, they stepped out of the car, Takei's suit slightly ruffled and Federica's dress a little off-center. They stood close enough to hide their joined hands.

"See you after the party?" Federica asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course," Takei responded simply. "In fact, I think I'll probably get done before you."

Federica laughed and used their intertwined hands to hit Takei on the thigh. "Then get going. The sooner you get done, the sooner you get back."

With one last tug at their hands, they separated and waved each other off, both turning to go in a different direction. As soon as her back was fully turned, Takei pulled out her cellphone.

"Where am I headed?" she asked once her call was picked up, ignoring any formality.

The voice on the other side chuckled. "Someone's eager for once."

Takei smiled to herself, thinking of the way her lips were still tingling.

"It's all part of the job," she explained. "Besides, I've got something to look forward to tonight."

* * *

**A/N:** In all honesty, Lucchini would be the most laid-back mafia princess; Federica might be a bit too responsible.

Another long one here, though I'm not exactly sure how it happened. This one was also pretty easy to write, and it was probably out of pure laziness that I didn't finish this sooner. I also made it a lot fluffier than I'd originally planned, but I think I'll blame that on reading too much angst recently.

And because I forgot last time, Happy 20th (and 21st) Chapter(s)! This is probably the longest I've been in any fandom.


	22. Love's Philosophy

**For: **Logan not here

**Prompt:** Krupinski/Rossman, modern-day AU

* * *

Drifting off to sleep in the five minutes before her Historic Karlslandian Literature class was part of Krupinski's daily routine. The class was large – by far the largest she had been in – but it was easy and the teacher wasn't anything bad to look at on the few days she managed to keep her eyes open.

Grunting drowsily six minutes into her nap, Krupinski peeked an eye open and whispered to the person beside her. "Rall's late."

Chuckling under her breath, her classmate shook her head in disapproval. "It really figures that you'd only notice the teacher's late because your nap wasn't interrupted at the right time."

"Shut it, Galland," Krupinski shot back in good humor, fully sitting up to assess the current situation. "What's the rule again? Fifteen minutes and we can leave early?"

Gallang nodded. "But Rall's too responsible to leave the class unattended. She actually _cares_ about whether we pass her course."

As if on cue, the door in the front of the room opened, revealing a woman with a large presence for her surprisingly short stature. She was juggling a stack of books that Krupinski could only guess were for.

"Professor Rall," she began, "has been having some health problems lately, so she's asked me to cover this class…"

Even though she continued to speak, Krupinski was too lost in looking at her to listen.

* * *

Krupinski instantly recognized her from the classroom, an easy feat considering her bright, silver hair. Sauntering from the coffee shop counter to her table, Krupinski fixed her best lady-killer smirk in place and tapped her on the shoulder.

"I never would have pegged you for a teacher," she said amiably.

"I'm not," the girl responded, unfazed. "I was just filling in for Professor Rall because I was in her class last semester."

"A student then. Me too," Krupinki said, leaning against the tall table.

The other nodded. "What's your major? Karlslandian?"

"Britannian literature," Krupinski answered, enjoying the look of surprise that passed on the girl's face. "I'm a bit of a writer."

"Of what sorts?" she asked, puzzled but appearing wholly unimpressed.

Krupinski shrugged. "Of every sort, I suppose. Short stories, novels… I prefer poetry, though. Girls love it."

The stranger's face instantly changed from one of apathy to one of suspicion. "You would use your education for something as low-brow as picking up women," she accused.

"I would argue that it's not low-brow; it's an art. Especially when you use poetry," Krupinski explained, smile growing as the other woman stared at her in pure skepticism.

"An art," the girl deadpanned.

Shrugging again, Krupinski took a sip of her coffee. "I'd say it's better than calling it a sport. Flirting's more than just a game. It takes finesse and planning."

"I'm not convinced," the other muttered, shaking her head.

With another long drag of her drink, Krupinski leaned in further. "Then I'll prove it to you. What's your name, stranger?"

* * *

It was strange to actually _go_ to a party, not just leave, with someone. Rossman (as Krupinski just learned was her name) looked uncomfortable as soon as they entered the action, and Krupinski decided having a date at the beginning of the night wasn't nearly as strange as having a date that was there to watch her flirt.

She knew a good majority of the party-goers already, and, as they also knew her, no one expected that the woman who had coincidentally come in with her was _with_ her.

Rossman took a seat on one of the open couches, signaling to Krupinski that she could start their "experiment" at any time. Krupinski gave her a subtle nod before grabbing drinks for both of them.

Swallowing hard, she scanned the room for someone attractive and seemingly alone. She was nervous, a feeling she hadn't experienced since she was still in Gymnasium and struggling with her fascination with pretty girls and the inability to talk to them. As if to make matters worse, she could see Rossman's distinctive silver hair, no matter where in the room she moved to.

It didn't take long to find someone. She had been chatting with a few friends from the study abroad program (one stuck on an old friend from her home country but with an obvious soft spot for one of her Orussian classmates; the other poorly-tempered and stubborn, with less love-life drama and more worry that her roommate would bring her girlfriend home again) when she noticed a girl she'd seen around campus. Breaking away from the conversation, Krupinski approached her.

"Excuse me, but would you happen to be in Miss Wilcke's Economics class?" she asked, tapping the girl on the shoulder. The girl turned, and Krupinski couldn't help but smile confidently at the sight of girl's expression morphing from annoyed to excited.

"I've seen you in class, and I couldn't help but notice your eyes. They're rather striking," she continued. "I couldn't find an excuse to talk to you before, but since we're both here…"

Five more minutes of sweet talking and Krupinski held an ink-stained napkin, the words "Call me" boldly written above a phone-number. When she excused herself to get a refill of her drink, she met another pretty girl she'd seen at her favorite café, and, in what she considered a new record, another number was in her hands in just three minutes. An hour later, she was almost positive she'd chatted up every woman in the room that she didn't know beforehand.

Smiling, Krupinski glanced around the room victoriously, the night of flirting energizing her. She instantly noticed a silver head nodding off on the same couch she had sat all night and stalked up to her as an idea hatched in her head.

"You like poetry?" she asked, feigning ignorance. "Just looking at you gave me plenty of inspiration."

Rossman turned to her in subtle surprise, raising an eyebrow but playing along. "I suppose that depends. What have you got?"

"I can already tell you'll like this one," she bragged. "'Nothing in the world is single, All thing's by a law divine, in one another's being mingle. Why not I with thine?"

"Is that what you've been doing all night?" she questioned.

"Sort of," Krupinski answered. "Except I'd never use ol' Percy on just anyone."

"Percy?"

Krupinski replaced her confident grin with a knowing on. "Percy Bysshe Shelley. A pick-up genius, if you ask me, but he made his money writing. I guess you could say I look up to him."

Though lowering her eyebrow, Rossman didn't lose her look of skepticism. "Does that mean I'm special?"

"Well, you _did_ come to this party with me."

* * *

It was after their third, unofficial "date" that Krupinski began to wonder why she was drawn to Rossman. She literally had a drawer full of the phone numbers of more-than-wiling women, but she insisted on spending time with someone whose height and build were far from her preferred type.

"There might be something wrong with me," Krupinski muttered, arms crossed and resting on her desk, no longer finding amusement in staring at Rall during class.

Galland, who was busy alternating between taking notes and doodling in the margins of her notebook, didn't bother to look up. "I would say there are lots of things wrong with you, but go on."

"Remember that substitute from a couple of weeks ago?" Krupinski asked.

"The short one?"

"Yeah. It turns out we've been kind of seeing each other."

Head jerking up in shock, Galland looked incredulous. "You haven't 'seen someone' since you made it your personal goal to corrupt one of the Hartmann twins. And even that only lasted two and a half months."

"That's the problem. I haven't felt the need to actually _date_ someone for a good two years now. What's changed?" Krupinski lamented, dropping her head on her crossed arms.

"A lady killer in love," Galland chuckled, shaking her head in pity. "Don't tell me you've lost your bravado."

Krupinski's body instantly straightened out. "I haven't!" she protested, "I'm just not used to worrying about _feelings_."

"You don't have to say it like it's a bad thing. A little love's probably a good thing for you anyway." Galland reasoned, causing Krupinski look indignant. "What? I'm tired of people telling me they've slept with my best friend."

* * *

They were on their way to the local coffee shop when Rossman spoke up.

"It's been three weeks, and I still can't understand you. Why do you do it?"

Krupinski glanced at Rossman in confusion, limiting her movements so that the cold wouldn't penetrate her barely-too-thin clothing. "Do what? Forget my jacket in my room? I wish I could tell you."

"No," Rossman responded, shaking her head. "Hit on girls like you do. There's got to be a reason why."

"Well, of course, and it's simple: I like girls."

"That's not what I mean!" Rossman protested. "You can like girls and not flirt with everyone you meet. So why do you?"

Sneakily while pretending to think, Krupinski scooted closer to the warm body beside her, in an attempt to be both even closer to Rossman and get a little warmer. Much to her dismay, Rossman instinctively moved away.

"Flirting's fun, and it's not like I do it for the sex. It's more like playing a game of cat and mouse: try to catch her as fast as possible," Krupinski explained.

"So it's all a big game to you?"

Krupinski sighed, tightening the hold she had around herself. "It can be, I guess. Sometimes I like a girl enough to call her, but most of the time I leave the numbers in my desk drawer; I don't have the time to have a tryst with every girl on campus."

"And when you lose interest in someone?" Rossman asked. Her eyes stayed fixed on the sidewalk ahead of them.

"Then I don't call her after the first date," Krupinski said, gaze stuck on the back of Rossman's head. "Better to end it early."

"Do you… do you lose interest in everyone?" Rossman muttered, the tone of her voice implying she didn't want an answer.

Krupinski responded anyway. "I have up till now, but I've actually been thinking a lot about that." She paused, the sudden silence heavy in the dry, winter air. "I know most people wouldn't call what we've been doing dating, but I'd like to try it –"

"Don't!" Rossman cut her off, turning unexpectedly and making Krupinski stop with her. "Don't treat me like another one of you conquests," she spat out, her voice equal parts angry and tearful. "I've seen what you do to women, and I refuse to end up like one of them."

Meeting the blazing eyes glaring at her straight on, Krupinski smiled gently, completely unlike her typical, confident smirk. "Didn't I tell you I don't use Percy on just anyone?"

Rossman stood her ground, her face unconvinced as Krupinski dug through her pockets for a scrap of paper and a pen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she was handed a crumpled sheet, the words "call me" boldly sitting above a phone number.

"That's a first for me," Krupinski joked, "so don't you dare go ignoring that."

Sparing one last smile, she continued walking, leaving Rossman stunned behind her.

* * *

"You never did call," Krupinski whispered, startling the poor woman sitting on a bench in front of her.

"I wasn't sure what to say," Rossman explained, her eyes trained on the book in her lap.

Moving to sit beside her, Krupinski scanned the campus quad. "That's no reason to leave me hanging," she laughed, watching a game of hackey-sack. "I feel played with."

"You're one to talk," Rossman grumbled, eyes never moving from her book.

"I like to think people who get involved with me aren't expecting much in the terms of a relationship. And besides, I'm not used to being the one getting strung along."

Rossman faced her in skepticism. "Can you blame me? I'm still not sure if I trust you."

Krupinski frowned in response, the expression unfamiliar and uncomfortable on her face. "Have I lied to you yet? I don't even lie to the people I'm picking up!"

"That's true," Rossman sighed. "You just use one of those poems, and people jump in your bed. It's troublesome."

Raising an eyebrow, Krupinski urged her to continue.

"You're annoyingly charming! How I supposed to resist you when you use a poem like you did!" Rossman accused. "I value my self-control, but it's hard when you recite a poem that ends in, 'The sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea; what are all these kissings worth, if thou not kiss –"

Leaning in, Krupinski didn't let her finish.

* * *

**A/N:** Slow author is slow.

Krupinski is quite fun to write, though I'm terrible with flirting and had to conveniently cut away every time it came up. Rossman is, meanwhile, wonderfully tsundere. (Also, Krupinski/Galland might be my new BroTP. I blame OZ7UP)

Internet slang aside, this is going mostly un-grammar/spell-checked because I feel like I've waited too long to post this. Please point out any errors you might see, so I can correct them.

Also, the request pool is always open, so lay them on me. I swear I'll get to them eventually.

Historical References:

- This chapter is named after the poem occurring throughout the story, entitled "Love's Philosophy." It was, as said in the story, written by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822), one of Britain's most acclaimed writers and husband to Mary Shelley of _Frankenstein_ fame. He died shortly before his thirtieth birthday when he drowned due to a storm on his way from Livorno to Lerici.


	23. The Way We Were

It's only after they've been broken up for about a week that Shirley realizes that going out with a coworker is a generally bad idea. The fact most of their other coworkers are convinced that they're still steaming in unresolved sexual tension really only makes matter worse.

They had already agreed that they would act normal; after all, if they managed to hide their relationship while it was actually happening, surely they could pretend it never happened after it stopped.

But when even their boss is determined to stick them alone in the same room for long periods of time, Shirley can't help but feel extremely tempted to send a joint email to everyone in the office saying that they're long past needing nudges in the right direction.

Shirley's too considerate, though, and she's well aware the other party would be less than pleased if their secret relationship got spread around the office, as small as it was. So she keeps quiet about everything, despite how annoying spending copious amounts of time around ex is or how easy it is to remember when the alone time was appreciated rather than hated.

Their break-up was meant to be a mutual decision, and the last thing Shirley wants to do is to start regretting it.(And there's no way in hell she's going to admit to herself that she may be already.)

That doesn't mean that "acting normal" is easy, though. When they were still together, there was that thrill of quick touches and even quicker kisses in secluded corners or empty hallways, the shared amusement of seeing how much they could get away with before getting caught. Now that they're apart, however, they spend their time seeing how much space they can fit between them before it looks unnatural or how stilted their conversations can get before someone catches on.

Shirley finds the easiest way of ignoring it is ordering something stronger than her usual beer during office-wide bar trips, pretending that she didn't notice that their coworkers put them next to each other _again_, and flirting with the most attractive _man_ around. (Somewhere along the line, she convinced herself that the most painless way of getting her coworkers to stop their matchmaking was to let them believe that she was straight. So far, it hasn't been working.)

As time goes on, it actually does get easier to talk to the other party without the extra help of alcohol. Their now-sparse interactions may cause her to remember their more intimate moments, but she expects that, like the previous awkwardness, will go away too.

So she wills herself to ignore that stabbing feeling in her chest when she sees her ex chatting up someone else, and she goes back to spending the free time she used to spend with _her_ in the garage with Lucchini, refusing to admit that she might be just a little bit lonely.

When she finally hears through the grapevine that _she_ has already found someone else, Shirley mentally waves it off, making note to congratulate her about it when they run into each other. She ignores the voice in her head that so kindly reminds her that _she_ was never so willing to be open about _their_ relationship.

They never end up running into each other that day, and when Shirley gets home, she decides that it's a good day for a quick ride on her motorcycle. By the time the rushing wind and pounding adrenaline stop helping her forget her workday, she's halfway to her hometown, so she finds a cheap hotel for the night, fully prepared to call in sick the next morning.

A day turns into a week, and Shirley can't help but wonder why she never went on an impromptu road trip before. (She also can't help but wonder why she's running away, but Liberion's a big place and there's a lot to see, so it's easy to ignore that question.)

She returns a week and a half later, tired and numb and feeling way too free to be okay with her nine to five job, but she knows she can't just spend the rest of her life on the road, especially since she left without telling a soul.

Lucchini's reaction is exactly as she expected: a forceful hug and angry accusations about not letting her in while she was "sick." Shirley pats her on the head and promises to fill her in after work.

Mio worriedly claps her on the shoulder and asks if she's alright, Minna tells her that she's going to ignore the fact that she used up more than her saved up sick days, Eila fills her in with the office gossip and reminds her that she has over a week's worth of pranks to make up for. _She _looks on sullenly, obviously torn between approaching her or staying just far enough away to not raise any suspicions.

Shirley smiles at her and to herself, feeling truly free for the first time since they got together months ago, and as empty as the feeling is, it's exactly what she was aiming for.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, would you look at who's still alive! (Yes, slow author is slow and getting slower.)

I guess I'll apologize firstly for dropping off the face of the fandom and secondly for updating with something that is neither a request nor happy. I will blame this on reading too much BAD END yuri manga and a good ol' fashioned case of writer's block. However, if there's enough demand, I might just write a sequel that will hopefully be filled with fluff. (And maybe makeup sex. You never know.)

The other half of Shirley's angst-bucket is left somewhat ambiguous on purpose, though I did have a character in mind when writing this. Those of you who know my pairing preferences can guess who; others can imagine whoever they really want.

Oh, and those requests that you probably don't remember making? Those will hopefully happen eventually.


	24. And So It Goes

**For: **Zoids Fanatic _and_ Cyberchao X

**Prompt:** Shirley/Lucchini

* * *

There is absolutely no denying that the most convenient place for a car to break down is in front of a mechanic. There is also absolutely no denying that it is also one of the most embarrassing.

"That's a lot of smoke." The voice is female, almost sultry, with a hint of laughter.

Lucchini is about to retort, angrily, but when she turns to the speaker, her voice catches in her throat.

"I can take a look if you'd like," the woman says. She has an amused smile on her lips, and it makes her look absolutely stunning.

"Uh, sure," Lucchini chokes out, instantly hating how much like a teenage boy she is sounds.

If the other woman notices, though, she gives no indication. Rather she waves the smoke from her face and rubs the grease from her hands on her pant legs. Lucchini can't help but notice how her overall top is wrapped around her hips to stave off the heat, and she flushes a little at the size of the woman's chest in her cutoff tank top.

The woman pops the hood, causing the smoke to flow out at an even faster rate. Through the mess, she seems to be able to diagnose the problem, and before long she's talking. Lucchini, however, is too busy simply watching her mouth move, utterly star struck, to hear her words, and all she can manage is a fumbling, "Excuse me?" before she realizes this is the third time she's embarrassed herself in the past ten minutes.

The mechanic chuckles under her breath and asks "Were you going anywhere important? I'm not sure what you could have done to your engine, but this is going to take a while to fix."

Lucchini shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak anymore.

"Then you can use the phone inside to call a friend. And while you're at it, you can write your number down on any scrap paper you see in there."

"M-m-my number?" Lucchini stutters, shock, confusion, and hope all mixing together in the strangest mix of emotions she's sure she's ever felt.

The woman's smile doesn't waver, although her eyes seem to flicker in a knowing manner. "Yeah, so I can tell you when you can pick up your car."

"Right," Lucchini agrees, deciding to go make that call before she makes an even bigger fool out of herself.

* * *

Lucchini's halfway through recounting her experience earlier that day when her friends burst into laughter. By the end, Eila's holding her stomach and holding onto Erica for support.

"She must have had an amazing rack to leave you speechless," Eila says, breathless from laughing. Erica's too busy covering her face with the table to comment, and Marseille is too busy choking on her beer.

"You should've seen her!" Lucchini protests. "Even Perrine would've stuttered!"

Eila shakes her head, unconvinced. "What happened to the hyper, friendly Lucchini? The one who charmed Romanga's very own duchess with her outgoing personality?" At this point, Erica's shoulders start shaking with renewed vigor, and Marseille forsakes another chance at her drink to laugh again.

"You should have seen her!" Lucchini reiterates, frustrated.

"Why don't you ask her out then?" Eila asks smugly.

"Why don't you ask out your Orussian girl?" Lucchini shoots back.

Flushing and left floundering, Eila splutters for a response and ultimately decides to glare at her darkly instead of responding. This only causes Erica to break into another peal of laughter and Marseille, who had just raised her bottle to her mouth, to choke on her beer again.

Lucchini spends the rest of the night playing with the condensation on her glass and half-heartedly listening to the conversation, imagining what it would be like to actually talk to that pretty mechanic.

* * *

It's at the end of her shift the next day that Lucchini struggles with cursing God or thanking him.

The bell above the door rings while she's behind the counter while she's going over notes from class, and when her head jerks up in reaction, she sees orange and blue.

"Well look who it is!" the woman says immediately, smiling that same, stunning, easy smile.

Lucchini feels a response stick itself firmly in her throat, and she fears that she'll squeak upon opening her mouth.

"I'm sorry to say your car won't be ready for another day. Turns out all you had a faulty spark plug, but I didn't have the right kind on hand. I had to order one, and it's set to get to the shop tomorrow," the woman continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Lucchini is struggling to look natural. "I'll still call when it's done so you know when to come in, though."

Lucchini nods, before coughing in hopes that it might clear the tight feeling in her throat. "I'm sure you didn't come in to ask me about my car," she starts hesitantly, "so do you need help looking for something?"

The woman's face slips from easy-going friendliness to sudden realization. "Oh yeah! Is Federica around? She told me to drop by today. I probably should have come sooner, though."

"She's in the back," Lucchini says, praising how calm and collected she seems. "I can go get her if you want."

"Would you? That'd be great!" The woman's smile is absolutely stunning, and Lucchini's heart stops in her chest.

By the time she gets to Federica in the back office, she's a stuttering, lovestruck mess, desperately trying to articulate that there's a pretty redhead waiting up front. She even slips back into her native Romagnan before Federica finally manages to understand her.

Lucchini's told that she can leave early, that Federica will close up, and that she doesn't have to worry about her pay being hurt for it. She nods and thanks her boss, unsure whether it's a good thing that she won't have to worry about looking dumb in front of that beautiful woman or a bad thing that she won't get a chance to spend time with her.

When she walks back to the counter to pick up her notes and sees that woman smile brightly again, she agrees that it's probably better to cut her losses and leave before she forgets how to speak in Britannian again.

* * *

Lucchini's only vaguely aware that she's been acting strangely. Her lunch break is mostly typical; Erica and Marseille have spent most of it arguing whether Leibnizian or Newtonian Calculus is preferred, and Eila has alternated between texting the Orussian girl from her Literature class and winking at the girls giggling in the corner of the dining hall. She can only comprehend snippets of Erica and Marseille's conversation, and it isn't until she's forcibly dragged into that she fully realizes how out of it she is.

"How can you say Newtonian calculus is better when dx doesn't even really exist? At least y' actually achieves something! Lucchini, please tell Marseille that she's absolutely crazy?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, right. I mean, dx is really only good for related rates," Lucchini responds, heading shooting up from the notebook she was doodling in. Her answer doesn't seem to appease either of them, though, and soon enough they're back at it.

Lucchini glances down at her notebook and grimaces when she sees terribly drawn doodles instead homework.

It's only then that Eila gives her a worried look over the top of her coffee cup. Lucchini deflects it with a bright smile and spends the rest of her lunch ignoring the conversation and the fact that her drawing are looking suspiciously like a certain woman.

* * *

She ends up making Eila drive her to the mechanic later that day, just to prove a point. There's something immensely enjoyable in the way Eila's draw nearly drops at the sight of the buxom mechanic, and when Eila turns to her, eyes wide, Lucchini feels extremely victorious.

That feeling doesn't stop her from blushing bright red when Eila leans over and whispers that she had "better tap that, or I'll hit you for your stupidity."

The trip is quick enough; she's given a breakdown of exactly what happened to her car, how much it's going to cost, and how she can avoid it happening in the future. Lucchini listens attentively, nodding in all the right places and trying to ignore annoying way Eila is smirking.

When it's all said and done, she's handed her keys and a business card ("In case you have any more problems," the woman says, winking), and she's about climb into her car for the first time in a few days when Eila has to open her big mouth.

"Why don't we all get a drink? After you've closed up, of course."

Lucchini wants to wipe the confident grin off Eila's face when the woman responds positively, but as Eila slaps her on the back and takes the opportunity to tell her not to screw up her chance tonight, she comes to the conclusion that befriending the second biggest flirt on campus wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

The bar's filled with all its usual patrons, and a quick scan shows her same group of friends sitting at their same booth in the corner. Lucchini's on her way over when she notices an unfamiliar head of red hair, and she has to stop herself from turning around and walking out.

She wasn't nervous before she saw the woman ("Charlotte," she had to keep reminding herself. "You know her name now."), but the sight of even the back of her head was enough to send Lucchini's heart straight to her throat.

Their collective laughter is so loud that Lucchini can hear long before she gets to the table, and for a short second, she's terrified their telling embarrassing stories about her. When she gets close enough to the group to announce her presence, though, none of them look guilty or knowing, and she takes that as a good sign.

She does notice the thumbs up Erica shoots her while everyone's turned in her direction, however, and the look of encouragement she gets from Marseille, which is something she never expected to get from the abrasive Karlslander.

Eila scoots over to allow her and waves the bartender over to get another glass and a new pitcher of beer. "You're late," she deadpans, but she claps Lucchini on the shoulder all the same.

"Some of us actually have homework," Lucchini replies without missing a beat, though in the back of her mind she's desperately reminding herself to stay calm.

Despite her best efforts, her heartbeat still picks up when she hears Charlotte talk.

"So you're all international students?" she asks, completely jovial, and Lucchini curses the fact that her attraction to the woman makes it so hard to be equally as friendly.

"Yup," Erica answers, and Lucchini can't help but notice that they would make great friends. "Marseille and I are from Karlsland, Eila's from Suomus, and Lucchini the latecomer's from Romagna."

Charlotte turns to Lucchini and smiles. "That explains why you work in Federica's store. She has a habit of picking up the local Romagnans."

Lucchini's left speechless as she racks her brain for a reply that sounds more intelligent than "You're pretty," when Eila cuts in and saves her.

"You know Federica? Don't tell me it's because of the calendar."

"You heard about that?" Charlotte asks with a look on her face that can only be apologetic, but responsive laughter causes her to smile with everyone else. "We actually met when we were in college. We were both engineering majors."

The table erupted in chatter at that bit of information, and it's only Eila's incredulous "And now she owns a boutique?" that gets through.

"Life's funny that way," Charlotte explains, chuckling under her breath. "One day you're 22 and looking for internships at big companies, the next you're 27 and happier with a job that doesn't require an expensive bachelor's degree."

Everyone's giving her looks of wonder, almost like they just realized she's not their age, and she has to laugh again.

"It's not something you learn until you experience it yourself, but sometimes what's best for you isn't in your plans."

It doesn't take long for the table to take advantage of that opening to question her more about her personal life, and by the end of the night, Lucchini feels just comfortable to ask her to join them again sometime. Her heart soars in a way previously thought unimaginable when Charlotte agrees.

* * *

"What's with you and your older women?" Eila asks one day on their way back to the dorm. It's been nearly two weeks since Lucchini's car broke down. Charlotte, or, rather, Shirley as she prefers to be called, has met up with them for drinks three more times since that first night.

"My older women? I have a type now?"

Eila waves her evasion off both physically with her hand and verbally with a "You've always had a type, and that's big knockers. We're not friends for nothing." They share a grin at that, but it's not long before Eila is serious again. "After Maria, though, I'm beginning to think you've also got a thing for older ladies."

Lucchini looks at her like with an expression that clearly shows her disbelief, and Eila puts her hands up in defense.

"I think it's because you're some kind of super genius when it comes to school, so you've only ever been around older people. I also think that that's why you're so terrible when it comes to flirting."

"First of all," Lucchini starts, "I'm not a super genius; I skipped a grade because the material in primary school was too easy." Eila rolls her eyes at that and looks like she wants to interject, but Lucchini continues on. "Secondly, I'm not terrible at flirting. I did date royalty, after all."

Eila doesn't seem fazed. "You didn't even realize she had a crush on you until she said it, and then you got shy. I recall you calling me nervously before your first date and ranting at me in Romagnan until I told you to calm down."

She gets a glare for her memory, and she sticks her tongue out to put the cherry on top of their mature conversation.

They walk in silence for a few moments, before Lucchini turns to her and earnestly asks "Have I really always been this bad?"

"Only when you know you like someone," Eila tells her, shrugging a little. "It's good to recognize these things so you can stop it from happening."

Lucchini nods, and that ends their chatter until they get to their dorm. Right before Eila get off the elevator, Lucchini leaves her with one last snide comment.

"The only reason you can tell I'm bad at flirting with people I like is because you're the exact same with your Orussian girl, isn't it?"

The elevator doors close before Eila has a chance to respond.

* * *

After the fifth time Shirley joins her and her friends at the bar, Lucchini decides she's extremely tired with the way her heartbeat picks up. They've known each other for about three weeks, Lucchini tells herself; she should _not_ be acting like lovestruck teenager after all this time.

Perhaps it's because she's frustrated, or perhaps it's because she thinks she needs the liquid courage to get over her inability to talk like normal around Shirley, but by the time the night's over, she ends up completely and utterly hammered.

Erica instantly blames it on the stress of finals and goes on to reminisce about the first year she legally had alcohol to comfort her through test season. Marseille takes the chance to complain about Liberion drinking laws and reflect on how much she missed Karlsland's lighter regulations, despite being legal in both countries. Eila's looking far too amused by the whole situation, and Lucchini is vaguely aware through her beer-induced grogginess that she'll probably never live this down.

Shirley alone looks concerned. She leans in, the worry on her face plain as day. Her hand is reaching for Lucchini's flushed face, and Lucchini is having the hardest time deciding if this is the best decision of her life or the worst.

"Let me take you home," Shirley mutters, grabbing an arm and dragging Lucchini to her feet.

She says her goodbyes to the rest of the group, and then they're off, Shirley driving her motorcycle with so much ease that Lucchini doesn't feel carsick, even from her place in the sidecar. They get into the dorm with Lucchini's student I.D., and Shirley supports her all the way into her dorm room, where she's lightly laid down on her bed.

Shirley presses a soft, motherly kiss to her forehead and tells her to take care of herself, and as she lies there in the dark, it hits her that she's probably in love.

* * *

Lucchini arrives at the mechanic's the next day with a red carnation she picked up at the florist across from campus and a small chocolate bar she bought from work on a whim last week. She tells herself that this is just to say thanks, and by some miraculous act of God, she isn't nervous at all.

The sign above the garage door reads "Glamorous Shirley", and Lucchini resists the urge to plant her palm on her forehead for not noticing that before. She keeps walking though, and before long, she's through the garage and standing in front of an old Liberion muscle car whose brand she doesn't recognize.

Shirley's got her head under the hood, and she makes a dismissive gesture before saying "I'll be with you in a minute."

Lucchini waits patiently until Shirley looks up; she planned it all out before she left her dorm, and she conveniently waited until there was only half an hour left before her shift to leave. Something about knowing that she has the perfect excuse to cut out if the conversation goes sour makes her confidence increase twofold.

Her heart still beats a little faster when Shirley finally looks at her and breaks into her typical, beaming smile.

"What're you doing here?" she asks at first, looking absolutely overjoyed, though she quickly follows up with "How do you feel?"

Lucchini feels herself smile back, like Shirley's mood is infectious, and when she thinks about it, she understands that it certainly is. "Just here to say thanks," she explains as she thrusts the flower and chocolate out in front of her.

Shirley's smile seems to get bigger as she takes the offered gifts. "You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

The answer satisfies her, and before Lucchini has a chance to notice it, they're talking normally about anything and everything. The moment is shattered as Lucchini's phone goes off, though, and she's abruptly reminded that she has work.

She quickly excuses herself and apologizes profusely for having to leave, and she's already spun around to run back to her car when Shirley says, "We should hang out sometime, just the two of us."

She shouts her agreement over her shoulder and drives off before Shirley can tell how red her face is.

* * *

Her phone goes off during her lunch break, the number unfamiliar. When she answers to hear Shirley's bright voice in her ear, she feels her throat clench up.

"I hope you don't mind me using the number you gave me a few weeks ago," the voice on the other line says. It's cheerful, and even through the phone, the sound of it makes Lucchini melt.

"It's not a problem," Lucchini responds, hoping that it doesn't sound as forced and anxious as she swears it feels.

The voice laughs, and Lucchini feels a smile creep onto her lips as well. "A customer gave me a couple of tickets to that exhibition match that's happening tomorrow night. Roma versus Liverpool. Wanna go?"

Lucchini has to remind herself that she's not in a place to shout, but she can't keep the excitement from her voice. "Of course I want to go!" she exclaims. "I'd never pass up a chance to see my hometown team in action."

"Great," the voice replies, sounding pleased. "Game starts at six, so I'll pick you up at five and we'll see about parking. Sound good?"

Lucchini wants to hug her, but settles for a verbal response. "Sounds awesome."

After she hangs up, she's met with three sets of curious eyes. Eila speaks first, as always, but Erica and Marseille aren't far behind.

"Someone's got a date."

"That was Shirley wasn't it?"

"It only figures that after all this time, _she_ ends up being the one to ask _you_ out first."

Lucchini's too elated to deal with any of their questions, but she gives them a short "Yes, that was Shirley," before she gets up and leaves.

There are rumors for the next week that she won the lottery after she left the dining hall screaming and hugging anyone she could get her hands on.

* * *

Shirley's supposed to pick her up in an hour, but Lucchini's already pacing her dorm room with the Roma jersey she bought while she still lived in Romagna on. Eila's sitting on her bed, reading a magazine and occasionally telling her to "Calm down, it'll be fine."

Lucchini wants to snap and blame her for the anxiousness, but she knows it won't get her anywhere, and it sure as hell won't make her feel any less like she wants to throw up.

"Listen," Eila says suddenly, setting the magazine down and forcing Lucchini to pay attention. "She invited you to spend some one-on-one time together, she took you home when you got too drunk to function, she's put up with almost a month's worth of you acting like a teenage boy. _She obviously likes you back_."

Lucchini wants to believe her, she really does, but there's still doubt tugging at the back of her mind. "She's six years older, already has a degree, and I'm sure is more experienced than me. I'm sure she could find someone a lot more fitting."

"She found you, and I'm pretty sure she thinks you're fitting enough," Eila sighs. "Aren't you supposed to be more overconfident and annoying than this?"

"Except when I'm around someone I like, right?" Lucchini echoes, smiling wryly.

Eila mirrors her smile and throws the magazine at her. "Now you're learning.'

* * *

Parking isn't as bad as either of them expect, which is probably thanks to Shirley's preferred method of transportation. Their seats are also better than what either of them thought they would get, especially in a Liberion football stadium converted to fit a soccer match.

"You're going to have to explain everything that happens," Shirley jokes after they get settled into their seats. "I know next to nothing about soccer."

Lucchini looks at her in surprise. "Really? Why would you take the tickets if you don't know anything about the game?"

She shrugs, but there's something in her eyes that makes Lucchini's whole body tingle in anticipation. "You mentioned that the thing you missed most about Romagna was soccer, so when they were offered, I took them. One of the teams being from Rome was an added bonus."

"I'm surprised you remembered that," Lucchini mutters, suddenly very self-conscious. Shirley just gives her another look, somehow both serious and playful, and Lucchini has to resist the shivers she feels run through her body.

The next thing either of them know, the crowd around them is cheering and both of them tear away from the other's gaze to stare at the field. Someone just scored, and by the large amount of maroon jerseys piled on each other, they can only assume that it was Roma.

They spend the rest of the game cheering on their team as Lucchini explains every foul, card, and amazing play. Every now and then, though, their eyes meet, and Lucchini swears she feels the action around stop each time it happens.

She gets back to her dorm at ten that night, and she isn't at all shocked to see Eila lying on her bed, looking expectant. She glares at her roommate, who would appear far more contrite if she didn't also look anxious to hear the news.

* * *

Lucchini doesn't hear from Shirley for the next few days, which she doesn't read too much into since she had a paper due immediately after the weekend, and she spent most of her time working on it.

It's unexpected, then, when she spots a familiar motorcycle parked in front of the coffee shop across from the campus gates.

She makes a beeline for it right away; she's already done with all her classes and she doesn't have a shift today, so she doesn't have a reason to not go over.

Her hand is halfway to the handle when she spots red hair in the window, and she leans to get a better look. Shirley's sitting at a table for two, and another cursory lean shows an all too familiar face.

Federica is sitting too close to Shirley for Lucchini's comfort. Each and every laugh, subtle touch, and lean drives a knife from Lucchini's chest, and it's not long before she's hanging onto the coffee shop window ledge of dear life, her legs suddenly weak.

She doesn't know what to think. She notes that her vision is blurry, but she's so concentrated on the pain in her chest to realize that it's probably because of the tears. She stumbles back from the ledge, before quickly turning to run.

In the midst of her escape, she can't help but wonder if this was how Maria felt when she had to leave.

* * *

The next night at the bar, Lucchini can tell that she's being a killjoy.

Everyone's there, as usual; Erica's been telling Shirley some great story about when she stole her friend's pants last year and caused the biggest fiasco in college dorm history, while Shirley's been trying not to spit her beer out. Eila's adding her own commentary, and Marseille's arguing that both of them have it all wrong.

Lucchini watches the action as though she were sitting at another table.

She notices the worried looks from all her friends, but it's Shirley's that really gets to her, and before she's really sure what she's doing, she's excusing herself and pushing through the thin crowd to the exit.

She ends up spending the rest of the night in her dorm room, praying that her roommate doesn't pop in and ask her why she in bed so early.

* * *

Work is as mindless as ever. Lucchini's long since been able to handle customers without thinking about it, so she doesn't register just _who_ the patron is until she's already asked "May I help you?"

It isn't until she hears "I heard about what happened from Eila," that her head snaps up from where she's doing classwork on the front counter.

"You heard?" Lucchini responds, trying her best to keep the fear out of her voice. Eila was exactly the kind of person who would tell a crush about the crush.

Shirley leans on the counter and gives her a sympathetic look, and that alone makes Lucchini's chest ache. "Yeah. Let me tell you in advance, heartbreak is something that never gets easier."

"That's… uplifting," Lucchini says hesitantly. All that's left is rejection, and she's waiting for it, head down to hide the cringe she's sure she has on her face.

The next thing she hears, though, is Shirley's laughter. "It's a warning; it's not supposed to be uplifting."

Lucchini's lifts her head at that, though she's certain that she still looks like her heart is breaking.

Shirley looks a little heartbroken too.

* * *

Lucchini's not entirely sure how she got suckered into going to Federica's party. All she really knows is that she's in a room filled with strangers and that it's way too early for her to be as drunk as she is.

She only spoke to Federica long enough to make her presence known, before making her acquaintance with the drink table and avoiding Shirley like the plague.

In the midst of her drunken stupor, she's aware that Federica and Shirley are standing on opposite side of the room, not even acting like the couple she's sure they are.

About halfway through the night, she realizes that she should really probably stop drinking, but after three shots and six-pack of beer, she's having too much fun. Soon enough, she's the center of a large group, joking and laughing and having a good time.

She's halfway through a story when she feels someone pull her out of the circle, and if only to prove how much she's had to drink, she stumbles into the person holding on her arm.

Shirley's got both arms lightly wrapped around her, and she has this worried look on her face that sends butterflies to Lucchini's stomach.

The next thing she knows, Lucchini's using Shirley's shoulders to boost herself up and plant a sloppy, drunken kiss of Shirley's lips.

* * *

The next morning, Lucchini wakes up on an unfamiliar couch in a semi-familiar apartment. The a soft voice drifting from a different room, in a language the Lucchini knows isn't Britannian but feels like she should recognize.

Her head hurts like she was hit by a car, and her mouth tastes dirty dishwater. The sun is too bright and the silence too loud.

"You were quite the life of the party." Federica places a glass of water and a couple of painkillers on the coffee table Lucchini didn't even notice before. "You should have seen Shirley's face. It went as red as her hair."

Lucchini's headache triples at the memory, and her hand finds her face immediately.

"I always thought you'd be smoother about confessing than that… not that she really minded, but to each their own."

"You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" Lucchini chokes out through her dry throat. She tries to glare, but she's certain it just looks like she's squinting because of the light.

Federica smirks at her. "Most fun I've had all month. If you hadn't passed out afterward, you would've heard everyone cheer. You can thank Shirley for putting you on the couch with a blanket."

Looking down, Lucchini confirms that there is, in fact, a blanket wrapped around her hips. "What happened after I fell asleep?"

"Shirley put you on the couch and spent the rest of the night answering questions. After your little show, people wanted to know why she was avoiding her cute, spunky girlfriend all night."

Lucchini's confused, but it's not sure if it's because of the hangover. "Girlfriend? But I thought…" she trails off, the realization of her mistake hitting her hard.

"Thought?"

Shaking her head, Lucchini pushes herself off the couch and uneasily stands up. "Do you have Shirley's address?"

* * *

She's already standing outside of Shirley's apartment door by the time she thinks that going there immediately was a bad idea.

It's a boring door in a nondescript hallway in one of the most ambiguous-looking buildings, but knowledge that Shirley is somewhere behind it is enough to send her heart into a tizzy.

Lifting her hand to finally knock on the door, Lucchini finds it extremely difficult to finish the movement and stands in utter nervousness, willing her knees to stop shaking. She's inhales to calm herself, and right as she moves her fist, the door opens.

"Lucchini! What brings you over here?" Shirley doesn't sound like last night happened, and for a split second, Lucchini doubts being there.

"I'm here to apologize," she starts, carefully watching Shirley's expression, "and to say thank you. That's the third time you've helped me after I embarrassed myself completely."

Shirley laughs brightly and waves her hand dismissively. "It's fine, really! I mean, I couldn't just leave you like that, any of those times."

There's something about the way she's acting. It's subtle, so Lucchini mentally praises herself for her ability to notice the extra force behind her laughter and the small stutter in her hand motion.

"I'm also here to come clean," Lucchini continues. "I could've sworn that you'd be able to tell with how obvious I was with it, but I kind of like you. A lot."

When Shirley laughs this time, it's more natural and shakier. "I thought I read the signs right, but then Eila told me that your crush fell through, so I was certain it couldn't be me. Seems pretty silly now."

Lucchini feels hopeful again, and she's instantly reminded of the night of the soccer match. "So you didn't mind the kiss?"

"Well, it would have been better if it didn't taste like four different kinds of alcohol," Shirley says jokingly. "But I'm happy it happened anyway."

"Good," Lucchini finishes. "So I guess you wouldn't mind if I did it again?"

Shirley doesn't bother to respond before she pulls Lucchini into the apartment and shows her just how little she minds.

* * *

Their first official date as a couple isn't nearly as romantic as Lucchini envisioned it would be, but something about that is utterly perfect.

They spend the whole dinner talking about college and schoolwork, and they walk to Shirley's apartment holding hands and poking fun at the other couples they pass on their way.

Lucchini isn't sure what to expect when they finally arrive, so she tells herself not to get her hopes up, even though her stomach's been tying itself in a knot the whole walk back.

She ends up on Shirley's couch, their lips locked together with an unwatched movie playing in the background. There's no chance to wonder if they're moving too fast, because as far as she knows, both of them have been waiting for this since they met.

It doesn't help that her mind shuts down the second Shirley takes off her shirt.

* * *

Being with Shirley is comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that Lucchini forgets to tell her friends about them, and the next time they all go out for drinks, she's given a mixture of shocked and confused faces when Shirley greets her with a peck on the lips.

They recount the story over a pitcher of beer, each of her friends listening intently. After they're done, Erica slaps Shirley on the back so hard and unexpectedly she chokes on her drink. In true form, Marseille complains about how long it took, and Eila wraps an arm around Lucchini's shoulders.

The group gets up to leave after a few rounds, saying their goodbyes at the door. Eila, Erica, and Marseille head in the direction of the dorms, bickering the whole way out of sight. Lucchini still catches the wink Eila throws to her over her shoulder.

It takes a short moment for her to notice that she and Shirley are alone, but, unlike the weeks prior, she isn't a bit nervous. She's… comfortable, and that's the only real way of describing the feeling.

There's love, there's attraction, but on top of it all, there's a comfort Lucchini can't fully put a finger on. It excites her, but not in any way she's used to.

"I guess that means they're expecting us to go back to my place, huh?" Shirley asks, her fingers wrapping themselves around Lucchini's. "College kids move so fast nowadays."

Lucchini stands in silence, simply enjoying the way Shirley's hand feels in hers, before tugging Shirley in the opposite direction. "We didn't tell them about us sleeping together, so they probably think they're helping me get lucky tonight."

"Do _you_ think you're getting lucky tonight?" Shirley laughs. She squeezes her hand a little, and the action sends small flutters through Shirley's heart.

There's a pause, partially because Lucchini can and partially because she is just feels _nice_ to walk down a street with Shirley next to her.

"I think I'm already lucky."

* * *

**A/N:** Has it really been six months since I updated? Haha, sorry guys.

Since two people requested Shirley/Lucchini, I decided that I'd write two fics, one in-universe and one AU. I find AUs a lot easier to write, so that's what you get first. The other one should (hopefully) be happening soon.

In other news, this is officially the longest thing I've ever written. I think 6000 words (exactly!) makes up for my absence, right?

If you see typos, please point them out so I can fix them, and if you want to make a request, feel free. Just be warned that I've gotten pretty slow.

Historic References:

- Both Issac Newton and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz are credited with creating calculus. However, there has been a great deal of debate over who created it first, and who had the better methods. Most mathematicians have their preferences over which kind they prefer, although both are really just different ways of achieving the same solutions.


End file.
